The Hunchback of Notre Dame
by Violets and Lilies
Summary: A new year and a new football season has begun at the University of Notre Dame, but when the Irish's season is threatened by numerous scandals, can our heroes find the culprits before the NCAA shuts down the whole program? Mostly in movie-verse, but has some book-verse themes. Very AU. Rated T because, let's face it, both the original movie and the book aren't "pretty".
1. Moving to College

The silhouette of a man appeared in an office window under the Golden Dome of Notre Dame University's main building, casting a shadow on the students and faculty as they congregated on the lawn below, greeting old friends, studying school maps, hauling luggage toward their dorm rooms or doing any number of other activities that need doing when one is moving to college.

Dr. Claude Frollo, the university's new president, wore the emblems of his office as he reveled in all the power and prestige that came with being the leader of one of America's most recognized institutions. He was a tall stern focused old man with sharp features and, believing that God had handed him this position in order to revive America as a world leader in education, his mind spun with exciting ideas about the future.

As he watched the activity below, his eyes were drawn to a beat up old taxi cab as it pulled up to the curb. His mouth went dry when the door was kicked open by a hot pink high-heeled sandal and long shapely leg. A beautiful girl, wearing an old tie-dye t-shirt over her well-endowed chest and raggedy looking jeans with holes in them, stepped out then turned to retrieve her bag, unknowingly giving the new president a great view on her backside. Her long fluffy ebony hair, caught up in a similarly bedraggled-looking white handkerchief, hung past her shoulders in an alluring way.

Wearing an almost defiant expression, Esmeralda walked into the crowd seeming to dare anyone to question whether or not she belonged on this campus, but, in reality, the young freshman was awed by the fact that she'd made it here. Born in Cairo, she'd been stolen from her mother before she was a month old and taken to the United States. From there, she'd been abandoned and grew up in an assortment of foster homes, each of which had kicked her out for this or that petty offence.

Through it all, she'd never lost her determination or compassion. Forging her own way, she'd graduated from high school near the top of her class and managed to secure a full-ride scholarship to Notre Dame as a cheerleader. Now, elated that she'd made one of her dreams come true, Esmeralda thought of her other big dream: to be reunited with her birth mother.

Instinctively, her hand reached for the small golden amulet that hung as a necklace around her delicate neck. The piece of jewelry was shaped a crocodile with small green emeralds for eyes. It had been found with her after her original abandonment and she knew that it was somehow the key to finding her true family.

Frollo's head wasn't the only one to turn when the sensuous-looking young woman stepped onto the sidewalk. Standing with a group of old friends, all of them wearing the uniforms of ROTC cadets, the rugged-looking muscular blond-haired Phoebus felt his heartbeat quicken as the girl sauntered past, acting as if she owned the school. He quickly turned away and waved at an ex-girl friend to save face, just in case one of his friends noticed.

Affable, chivalrous, and hard-working by nature, Phoebus was very popular on campus with the other students and faculty alike. In fact, his only fault, in the eyes of everyone else, was that he was so confident in his own abilities that he sometimes came off as a little arrogant.

Being a senior this year he'd happily been named captain of the school's ROTC Army unit and, having come from a family with a long history of military service and being deeply devoted to his country, he was looking forward to the challenge of guiding his fellow cadets along their way.

Standing at the edge of the lawn near the street a young man, his long black hair tied back in a ponytail, watched Esmeralda progress up the sidewalk with a parental gaze. Clopin, a senior cheerleader wearing a green and gold Notre Dame sweater and blue jeans, naturally felt protective of his younger teammates so his angst grew as he sensed the intense buzz that followed her.

Suddenly, he spied a small boy bouncing a ball near the busy street and he dashed to intervene. Half dragging the child to a nearby bench, Clopin sat him on his knee and pulled, as if by magic, a small book from his back pocket. Then he began an illustrious telling of the Dr. Seuss story, _Green Eggs and Ham_ , grinning as the child picked up on the rhyme schemes. He was really in his element now. After all, other than cheerleading, going to class, studying, and being an RA in his dorm, he also volunteered at the local Children's Museum.

Back up in the window, Frollo desperately tried to get the image of the beautiful girl, who clearly came from a questionable background, out of his head. He was supposed to be an academic and above all thoughts of lust so he hated the girl for turning his mind, for making him less than the great man that he was.

Then suddenly, he stiffened with revulsion.

A squatty-looking but bullishly muscular young man with a grotesquely misshapen back and distorted face stepped out of a sleek new-looking taxi cab. Wearing a bulky green t-shirt and faded brown jeans, the freshman walked slowly up the sidewalk, on his way to pick up the key to his dorm room. The whole courtyard seemed to pause, watching him with a mixture awe and pity.

Naturally shy and reclusive, Quasimodo owed his mother a profound debt for getting him here; she'd never let him define himself by his outward appearance or handicap. Thinking of her now, he felt a lump well up in his throat. He wished that she was here to see him, but she'd died in the same mouth that he'd received his letter of acceptance. It had nearly shattered his heart to watch her die but he remained committed to making her proud.

Watching from the grounds of the Basilica of the Sacred Heat, standing diagonally across the street from where the students were gathering, three pairs of discerning eyes fastened on the handicapped young man. The Goyle siblings may have been quite elderly, but they were fixtures at Notre Dame. Being longtime residents of South Bend, the two brothers and their sister had for years made it their business to make sure that the students who needed help were well cared for. Having been around for so long, most of the student population ignored them, but for the ones who got to know them well, the Goyles were as true a friends as anyone could ask for.

There was Victor, a tall quiet man with an aristocratic bearing. Wearing a Notre Dame blazer over a white turtleneck and starched khaki pants; he could, despite his advantaged age, rival anyone on a collegiate front court in height and strength.

His brother, Hugo, was a good deal shorter and had the beginnings of a potbelly, but was just as strong. Being at the other end of the personality spectrum, Hugo wore a red sweater with a black outline of the Norse god of mischievous, Red Loki, on it and blue jeans. He loved pulling pranks, telling jokes, talking bravado, and making people laugh. For him, good cheer was the best medicine for any problem.

Their sister, Laverne, was like a favorite grandmother to the students she cared for. Wearing a long paisley-print dress, black high-heels, and a string of fake pearls around her neck, she was a wiry hard-charging and protective woman who never shied away from giving tough love or her opinion about how things should get done.

Back in the main building, Frollo's office door swung open.

"Phone call for you, sir," his intern, a tall preppy senior with an egg-shaped head and greasy-looking short black hair, said.

"Who is it, Sarousch?" the reply was cold, wrapped in a façade of pleasantness.

"Some dude named Jehan, sir."

Frollo's face instantly darkened, his long pale fingers reflectively cringing in midair.

"I could tell him to get lost, sir." Sarousch offered, hoping to please his boss. He started to close the door, relishing the tinge of excitement that he got before telling someone off.

"Put him through," Frollo's voice came quietly into his head.

"Sir?" Sarousch asked, pausing, stung by disappointment.

" _Put him though_ ," the new president repeated, enunciating each word with slow deliberate forcefulness.

Turning in the doorway, Sarousch saw both hate and pain written on Frollo's face.

"Never, _never_ , hang up on _him_ ," the president continued his cold lecture.

"Okay…err uh…Of course, sir. Anything for you."

" _Then get out_!" Frollo bellowed. His face flush, he stood shaking like a leaf for a few minutes after the door slammed shut.

Finally, regaining control, he grabbed the receiver.

"Hello, brother."

* * *

Quasimodo sat on a bench near Lewis Hall, the girl's dormitory where Esmeralda had been assigned a room. Watching the gorgeous freshman stare at the hall, seemingly hesitant to go in, his mind began to dream about what it would be like to be with someone so pretty.

As if they'd materialized off the façade of a nearby building, the Goyle siblings slipped out of the shadows and were speaking to him almost before he realized that they were there.

"Why don't you go ask her out?" Hugo asked, sitting down without invitation, a knowing grin plastered on his face.

"Don't be rude, Hugo," Victor admonished, "The boy is plainly nervous."

"Hey, all I'm saying is the early bird gets the worm, okay?" Hugo retorted, emphasizing his annoyance with expressive hand gestures.

`"And all _I'm_ saying is that you should let him move at his own pace. Just because _you_ —"

"Hey, hey, boys!" Laverne cut in, hands on her hips, "Why don't you let the boy speak for himself instead of debating his life without his opinion."

"Now that's a sensible idea, Laverne," Victor said, shaking his finger at Hugo.

"Hey!" Hugo snapped, immediately taking the hint.

"Hey yourself" Laverne retaliated, slapping the side of his head, "Let the boy talk." She patted Quasimodo's shoulder, "It's alright son. Don't pay any attention to these two blowhards. They're actually pretty nice when you get to know them."

"Wh-what do you want with me?" Quasimodo stammered, shocked and suspicious of being accosted by the outgoing trio.

"We just want you to be comfortable here at Notre Dame," Laverne consoled him, "and we think we're pretty good at knowing who needs some encouragement." She gestured to herself and her brothers, scowling as she did so, "I'm sorry. If these two hadn't been running their mouths, we would have introduced ourselves first."

"I'm Laverne," She pointed in turn, "This is Victor and that's Hugo."

"It's nice to meet you," Quasimodo replied, tentatively extending his hand to each one and beginning to smile. In spite of himself, he was starting to warming up to them, "I'm Quasimodo."

"It's nice to meet you too," Hugo said, pumping his hand, "Say, can we call you Quasi?"

"I-I guess."

"So, tell us about yourself, Quasi." Victor said, as buoyantly as a serious man could.

"Well," he answered, blushing with pleasure and embarrassment, "There's not much to tell really."

"Baloney!" Laverne cut in, "How old are you?"

Nineteen."

Then, you've got nineteen years to tell us about!"

"I bet you're quite a lady's man, right Quasi?" Hugo interrupted, ribbing him, his gleeful smile perpetually lighting his face.

"Certainly not!" Victor admonished his brother again, "Quasi looks like a man of books—and much too considerate to just "play the field".

"Well, no," Quasimodo whispered, growing red in the face again, "I've never had a girlfriend."

"Well, that's their loss!" Laverne stated firmly, ramming a fist into her palm, "But—"

But, nothing," Hugo interrupted, pointing as Phoebus sauntered up to Esmeralda, "He's losing his chance right now!"

Surprised by the new development, everyone turned to listen in.

"Hi," Phoebus said cheerfully, surprising her. She whirled around and, seeing him, narrowed her eyes.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"Whoa, whoa," Phoebus said, holding up his hands backing up a step in surprise, "What did I do?"

"I asked you first."

"I just wanted to help you take your bags up."

"You mean my _bag_ ," Esmeralda retaliated, "One _bag_. Give me a break."

"Then maybe I could get you a drink afterward?" he asked, trying again.

"Ahhh, there it is," she answered knowingly, "You want to take my _one bag_ up and then, after such a strenuous workout, we can go grab a drink. Then, the next thing I know, I'm up in your dorm room tonight—"

" _Hey, now_ , where to you get off with all that?" Phoebus snapped, reddening with sudden shock and anger, "I don't do stuff like that."

"Of course, you don't," she replied sarcastically, "You're the noble American soldier come to rescues the foreign savages from themselves."

"You've been watching too much TV, girl." he said, seriously.

"I didn't have a TV growing up," she answered sharply.

"Then you read too many of the wrong books!" he fired back, giving trust for thrust, "You can't claim to be illiterate; you're at Notre Dame."

"What are the _right_ books, then?" she smartly inquired, her eyes sparking, "Comics? Slutty magazines?"

Breathing deeply to control his hurt feelings, he said, "Seriously girl, you've got your head in the clouds." The he paused to reconsider, pointing accusingly, "Or maybe, it's that you've got your mind in the gutter."

" _How dare you_!" she gasped, infuriated, "You people _always_ think the worst about us."

"What do you mean by that?" he challenged, suspension fusing with his anger. Then it dawned on him and his eyes widened, "You—you mean the military?" Shaking his head, unable to wrap his head around her words, he said, "Hey, I'm just an ROTC cadet, but you've got a lot of nerve, girl. We've helps zillions of people around the world."

"You hurt zillions of people too," she insisted. Then her temper deflated and a dreamy look came into her eyes, "But…I could possibly change my mind if you really want to help me with my bag…"

Stepping closer, she started to hand it to him and he instinctively relaxed and reached for it, a huge smile spreading over his hard features until her knee slammed into his groin.

Slowly sinking to his knees, he gritted his teeth and crossed his eyes, unable to care about the sounds of muffled laughter coming from a nearby bench. Esmeralda stormed off with a huff, disappearing behind Lewis Hall's double doors.

Phoebus took deep breaths, slowly coming to his senses. Then he began to laugh.

"What a women!" he said hoarsely.

Once inside and alone, Esmeralda's bravado disappeared in a flash; now she felt like a nervous little girl on the first day of school. Finding the stairs, she walked slowly up, unconsciously putting one foot in front of the other as she lost herself in the beautiful decor, until she reached her third floor room. Much to her surprise, there was a tall girl with short blonde-hair jimmying with the lock. Though she was plain-looking in a simple green dress and wearing no make-up, the girl had the body of a seasoned circus performer.

"What are you doing?" Esmeralda demanded, dropping her bag with a thud.

"My key doesn't work," the girl explained, holding the offending object out for inspection.

"Good," Esmeralda snapped, "This is _my_ room."

Startled by her tone for a moment, the girl jumped backwards, but recovered to smiled widely,

"Oh, well, hi then," quickly pointing at the door, "It's a double. We're roommates." She held out her hand, "I'm Madellaine, but please call me Mattie."

Esmeralda blushed deeply, embarrassed at her harshness.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have…I'm, well—they call me Esmeralda."

"That's a funny way to introduce yourself."

"Yeah, well, I was—never mind."

"You were adopted or switched at birth or something and don't know your birth name?" Mattie guessed, inappropriately blurting out her first thought before she thought about Esmeralda's feelings. Then she caught herself and clamped her hand over her mouth.

"I said _never mind_!"

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever." Esmeralda forcibly shoved her key into the keyhole; flinging it open, she waltzing inside.

"I always do that," Mattie continued, scolding herself in the hall, "I'm sorry. I just—"

"Aren't you coming in?" Esmeralda interrupted.

"Well, I…"

"It's your room too."

"I know but..."

"Look," Esmeralda sighed, "I'm sorry alright. I don't bite, no matter what I sound like sometimes, and…and, I hope we can be friends."

Mattie grinned in relief and almost skipped inside, "Then I'm sure we will be!"

* * *

Several hours later, the two girls left the dormitory and hopped into a waiting cab, laughing almost as much as they talked. Heading downtown, they hoped to buy some cheap bedding and bathroom necessities for Esmeralda, who hadn't brought any beforehand.

Watching bitterly from the shadows was a tired old woman with ragged-looking shoulder-length raven hair. Wearing a custodial staff uniform, Gudule's hand instinctively clenched a large golden amulet hanging as a necklace around her wrinkled neck. It was shaped like a crocodile, with small green emeralds for eyes.

Once upon a time, she'd been a beautiful sensuous woman, but that was before nearly two decades of rage and despaired had laid waste to her body and soul.

Back then, she'd been living in Cairo as the new mother to a darling baby girl named Agnes. But tragedy had struck their home before the child was a month old when thieves had broken into their one room apartment and stolen the little one. Through she'd searched for many years, no trace of the baby was ever found and Gudule had agonizingly accepted the fact that her daughter was dead.

The amulet, now woven between her long ridged fingers, was her only memento to that short-lived happy time; she'd bought this large one for herself and a smaller matching one for her little girl.

Watching the two freshmen until their cab blended into the afternoon traffic, Guldue felt intense pain and hated welled up in her heart. Agnes would have been their age if she was alive. It wasn't fair that they should be allowed to go about their lives unimpeded while her own child had no life at all.

Focusing her thoughts particularly on Esmeralda because of their similar appearance, Gudule determine that the young woman's life should be just as miserable as her own.

~*0*~

Frollo slammed the phone down and glanced at the clock on his wall, drumming his fingers on his desk in frustration. He couldn't believe that he'd just spent all morning talking with his foolish arrogant little brother.

Jehan had the potential for the same kind of greatness that Frollo himself had achieved, but no matter what the new president had tried, his brother was always wasted with drugs, using just about everything that could be drunk, smoked, or shot into his arm. More than once Frollo had bailed him out of jail or given him money to restart his life but to no avail.

Well, no more! Dr. Frollo was done with him! He had too much at stake. His reputation, his career, his plans to lead America into a sunlit world brought on by the best educational opportunities, all would be ruined if Jehan came calling too often. If his little brother wanted to rot in jail, what was that to him?

So, why then, he asked himself, did you say that you'd meet him for lunch next week?

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Alright, whose ready for US college football to start? Personally, I can't wait!

In case you haven't already guessed, Sarousch and Madellaine are from the Disney movie sequel, Hunchback of Notre Dame II and Jehan and Gudule are characters from Victor Hugo's book that didn't make it into either movie. I know that Esmarelda and Gudule's situation is a tad different in the book as far as nationality, birthplace, and occupation, but I was trying to make the story easier on myself. It's AU; I can do that.

To save myself the time of trying to "create" a game schedule, I decided to use Notre Dame's 2012-2013 season as far as the win-loss record, locale of games, opponents, score, and bye week are concerned. Just a reminder, that means no playoff game. The BCS was still in use then. I debated whether or not to tell you about this aspect beforehand but, ultimately, I decided that the games are only a part of the background in which the story revolves so no really big spoilers are spilled by giving you this detail.


	2. Djali

"It came, it came!" Esmeralda squealed excitedly as she flew into the dorm room, holding her long-awaited passport, "I finally got it!"

"That's great, Esma!" Mattie said. She turned away from the paper she was typing to rejoice with her friend, "Now you won't have to miss cheering at the first game this weekend just because it's in Ireland."

Esmeralda fell backwards across her bed, her long fluffy raven locks spilling out around her, her face shining with unabashed joy.

"Yes!"

Mattie laughed and shook her head, "Man, I wish I could go." Then she cocked her head, "Tell me again, why is Notre Dame playing the United States Naval Academy in _Ireland_?"

Esmeralda turned toward her, suddenly thoughtful, "I don't know." Then she grinned, bounced up, and did a happy dance around their small room, "But, I don't care! I get to go!"

Sinking back onto her bed, she toyed with the amulet around her neck, "I've never let _anything_ stand in the way of what I want, but this whole passport thing was completely out of my control." Sighing, she added, "I should have guessed that my less then well-documented arrival in this country or all the foster homes that I've stayed in might look a little shady on a passport application."

Mattie nodded soberly, "I'm glad you're able to go. It would've been a real bummer to not see you bouncing up and down on the sidelines."

Then she added, "So you've never found _anything_ on your mother?"

"Nothing," Esmeralda replied quietly, almost to herself, "Not even on ." She shrugged, her eyes hardening with determination, "But the databases can only go so far. I'll find her one day."

"That's the spirit!" Mattie encouraged. Standing up, she stretched and unplugged her flash drive, "Man, sitting down all morning to work on my paper is a real killer!"

Esmeralda laughed and grabbed her own flash drive, "Gee, thanks pal. I have to run over to the computer lab to work on one that's due tomorrow." She sighed, "Thankfully, I only have to add the citations, but it'll still take a couple hours." She looked a little wistful, "You're so lucky to have a computer in the dorm."

"Oh, use mine, Esma." Mattie insisted, "Mr. Ringling buys a laptop for all the kids of his employees that go to college." She grinned, "Circus life isn't a picnic, but we're a well-supported group."

"You sure?"

Of course!"

"Oh, thanks, Mattie! I have practice in a few hours so it'll be a real help if I don't need to go to and fro from the lab."

"I'm going to stretch my legs delivering that box of canned food to the Basilica for the canned food drive," Mattie said, moving toward a large cardboard box stuffed with cans sitting by the door, "Then I have a Biology lab till early evening."

"Ugh, Biology!"

"Tell me about it!"

Picking up the box, Mattie juggled it while opening the door, "How can we celebrate your passport's arrival?"

Esmeralda snorted, "I don't have a lot of spending money right now. I spent most of it getting the bed sheets and bathroom stuff last week."

"Ah…well… could it be my treat?"

"Mattie…"

"Pleaseeee? I want too! We'll go cheap, I swear."

Esmeralda laughed, "Like where?"

"How about the cheapest royal treatment around? Burger King and Dairy Queen."

Still laughing, Esmeralda consented, "Well, alright."

"Great!" Mattie said, as she shut the door.

Balancing the cumbersome box as best she could, Mattie walked down the steps with only fleeting thoughts about some Prince Charming showing up to carry it for her. She managed to make it to the door without incident, but upon opening the double doors, she heard a loud bang and saw a vase of flowers and water sail through the air.

" _Oh_ , I'm so sorry," she cried, only momentarily startled by Quasimodo's appearance, "I-I I should have been paying attention!"

"No, no," he said hurriedly, clearly flustered about facing a girl and his wrecked bouquet.

"Let me help you clean it up," Mattie insisted, setting her box down a little too quickly. It toppled over and cans started rolling out, "Oh, no!"

Despite being rattled, Quasi nevertheless lumbered over to help and for the next few minutes they scurried around picking up flowers and cans.

Quasi smiled to see the last can to be returned to the box was spaghetti and meatballs. "This reminds me of one of my favorite songs," he said, blushing at the fact that he was talking to a girl about himself.

"On top of spaghetti," Mattie guessed, striking up the tune with a small giggle in her voice. Then she blushed too, seeing the mess that she'd made of his bouquet, "I'm afraid that I've ruined it. Please let me pay you back."

"Nah," Quasi waved the offer off, his face getting redder, "Don't worry about it."

"But they were for someone, weren't they?"

"Nah, I was…uh...going to dry for potpourri." He smiled, trying to make is explanation sound believable, "My dorm smells terrible."

"Okay…" she answered, thinking his answer was a little strange. She took the box from him, "Thanks for your help."

"No problem," he said, sighing wistfully when she was out of earshot.

So much for Hugo's idea to give his secret crush a bouquet, he thought, but, then again, what chance did I have with the beautiful girl that I saw on move-in day?

When Mattie got to the Basilica she was startled to see the new president and his intern standing on the lawn in a heated discussion with one of Norte Dame's longtime guidance counselor's, a man named Archie Deacon. Naturally, she shrank under Frollo's austere gaze and hurried past them and through a side door, but Sarousch openly stared after her, memorizing her features in his head long after she was gone.

"So, you're telling me," Frollo continued, after the blonde student had gone inside, "that this football thing isn't just a little extracurricular activity that the students do between classes to get a little exercise?" Growing more agitated, he continued, "Are some of my students actually going overseas to _play_ a ridiculous game and thousands more are going just to _watch_?"

"Yes, sir," Mr. Deacon replied, failing to keep a small chuckle out of his voice, "that's exactly what I'm saying." He blushed under the withering gaze of his boss, adding, "Football isn't just a game around here, sir. It's a _culture_."

"A _culture_!" Frollo was incredulous. Drawing to his full height, he looked lofty, "No, sir! I know what culture is and it most definitely _isn't_ a ridiculous and dangerous game!"

"I'm not opposed to a study semester aboard in Ireland so the students can learn about the Celtic culture, but I will not stand idly by and watch this great school's reputation for outstanding achievement be completely _ruined_ by some worthless _game_."

"Of course, It is not _my_ reputation that is at stake, for I know that I am purer than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd, but this preposterous sport will sully—""

Mr. Deacon's wry smile interrupted his rant, "I don't think your judgment on football will pass over very well, sir. Not with our alumni or the students, not with the town of South Bend and, heaven knows, not with the nation."

"We'll see about that, Mr. Deacon!" Frollo snarled, then glanced at his watch, "Now, you must excuse me. I have an appointment."

With that, he stormed off and got behind the wheel of a red Ferrari convertible, spraying gravel as he sped out of the parking lot.

"Well, young man—" Mr. Deacon said, turning to speak with Sarousch.

But the intern was gone.

* * *

A few hours later, Frollo eased the car into a McDonald's parking lot and pulled a nondescript baseball cap low over his eyes. Quickly scanning the parking lot before he got out, he hoped that he was far enough away from the school to avoid being recognized on the spot.

Going inside, he saw his brother at a corner table and scowled. They hadn't seen each other in five years, due to Jehan's latest stint in jail, and seldom spoke on the phone.

"Well," the younger man said, rising unsteadily on his feet as Frollo approached. He was a hollow sickly version of his brother and had to hang on to the table to counter his unsteady swaying, "If it isn't my big brother, descended from on high to mingle with the commoners." He finished with a wheezy laugh.

"Don't patronize me." Frollo hissed, using his shoulder to push his brother back into the chair, then slipping into his own.

"Don't thank me then," Jehan retorted, as if his feelings were hurt, "I even ordered your favorite." He nodded at the Caesar salad in front of Frollo.

"Did you give them my name?" Frollo asked anxiously, glancing swiftly toward the counter. Thankfully, no one was paying attention.

"Oh course, not," Jehan snorted, "I wouldn't sully _my_ reputation by associating it with _you_."

Frollo gritted his teeth, holding back a biting reply. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Now, now," Jehan said, lightly, "We haven't seen each other in five years and all you can ask about is what I want?" He shook his head, "Shame, brother, shame."

"Listen, you little swine," Frollo snarled, fighting to keep his voice down, "I have a job to do—and it doesn't include _babysitting_." His eyes bulged as his wrath rose, "I drove an hour— _wasted an hour_ —of my precious time to come up here and see you."

"Do you realize," he continued lecturing, "That I've just made a terrible discovery, but I set it aside so that I could do my duty as your brother and all I get in return is a bunch of patronizing hogwash?" His eyes flashed with resentment, "So I'll ask you again, _what is it that you want_?"

"I need money," Jehan stated matter-of-factly, suddenly becoming sullen.

"Ahh," Frollo replied, sneering, "So it appears that you do need me after all. Well, well, what a surprise."

"Please, Claude "Jehan whimpered, his lower lip starting to tremble, "I'm in real trouble."

"What a pity," Frollo sneered again.

"Pl-plea-please, brother," Jehan began stuttering in his anxiety. With trembling hands, he reached out, clutching Frollo's sleeve, "Help me!"

"Keep your filthy—" Frollo gasped, recoiling quickly.

"I beg you, Claude," Jehan's voice began to rise and, unfortunately, attract the attention of other patrons and employees, "I need money."

Scowling at the situation, Frollo felt trapped. He wanted nothing more than to get away before he was recognized, but he couldn't leave. Quickly yanking out his wallet, he dashed off a check for five thousand dollars and flung it at Jehan.

" _Don't call_ ," he snarled, as he started to hurry out.

"Wait!" Jehan called after him, "I told them that you would pay."

Frollo froze in mid-stride, seething. Then he stalked to the counter and threw down the money, wondering how it was that his little brother had gotten away with giving the McDonald's staff that excuse.

Only when he was alone in his car and speeding down an old country lane, letting the wind whip through his bushy gray hair, did he begin to relax. Suddenly vision of Esmeralda, with smoldering eyes and the sun's light caught in her raven hair, flashed into his mind. Angry that the siren's spell was burning in his skin, searing his flesh and bones, he took out his cell phone and punched in his intern's number.

"Sarousch," he spoke gruffly, "Get ready to help me. We're going to bring Notre Dame football to its knees."

*~0~*

"So did she like the flowers?" Hugo asked, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he and his siblings stood against the Basilica's wall, protectively watching over a dejected Quasimodo. He nodded at Esmeralda as she sprinted down the sidewalk.

"I can't imagine why she wouldn't like such a beautiful bouquet," Victor added, when Quasi was slow to speak.

"What is it, Quasi?" Laverne asked, sensing the young man's troubled thoughts, "It's just flowers and she's just a girl. There's no need to fear."

"I didn't give them to her," he answered softly.

"You _what_?" Hugo said, shock overcoming his congenial nature, "But Quasi, how do you expect—"

"Hush, Hugo," Laverne snapped, patting the disheartened student on the back, "What happened, Quasi?"

"Well, I was standing outside Lewis Hall, trying to work up the nerve to go in when this girl with a box full of cans for the food drive came out and we ran into each other. I spilled the bouquet and she spilled her box." He sighed, "She was really nice to me though and helped picked up my flowers." Pulling them from behind his back, he added, "See, I still have them."

"Well, why don't you give them to her now?" Hugo asked, pointing just as Esmeralda disappeared into a women's restroom.

The door restroom door slammed behind her and Esmeralda skidded to a stop, seeing an old custodian doing some cleaning.

"Sorry girlie," Gudule said, unsympathetically, "All the stalls are out of order." She grabbed some signs off her cart and busily began taping them to each door, watching out of the corner of her eye, hoping to upset her.

"I only need to change clothes for practice," Esmeralda explained politely.

"Not in here." Gudule retorted, "If I let one in, then everyone will want to use it and someone will probably ignore the signs." She was warming up for a rant, "That's what's wrong with this generation. You have no respect. You just plunge on with your own agenda without regard for anyone else. You—"

"Oh," Esmeralda said quietly, "Well, thanks anyway." She turned and hurried away, leaving Gudule annoyed that she hadn't even ruffled her.

Once Esmeralda had changed clothes, she charged toward practice, pausing only to throw Phoebus an icy glare when he waved at her from his coffee-colored 1932 Buick. Even if he'd forgotten about their first meeting, she hadn't.

"Hey, there," he called, "is that any way to treat someone?" He grinned as he slung a bow and quiver of arrows over his shoulder. Continuing, he said, "I'm Phoebus, named after the god of the sun." Indicating his archery instruments, he said, "My friends call me the Captain of the Archers. It's my favorite hobby."

Throwing her his best smile, he held out his hand, "What's your name."

She was unimpressed by his greeting and snapped, "What do you want?"

"Well, I just thought that if you're going to be mad at me, you should at least know who you're mad at." He shrugged, "and, well, I was kind of hoping that you'd tell me your name so I'd know who's mad at me."

She snorted, "Get lost."

He looked hurt, "That's kind of hard to do. I'm a senior; I know this campus backwards and forwards."

She looked like she wanted to slug him, but Chopin interrupted from behind.

"Is he bothering you, Esmeralda?"

Recognizing his voice she spun around, then gasped his appearance.

"Why are you wearing a donkey's head, Clopin?"

"The Children's Museum is sponsoring a play about farm animals." Shrugging, he added, "I got a part." Then he came back to his original question, "Is he bothering you?"

"I love it!" she laughed, ignoring his more serious question. She rose on her tiptoes to kiss the mask, but he held her back, intent on talking to Phoebus.

Both being seniors, they'd taken some classes together and vaguely knew each other, even though they ran in different social circles, "Why don't you buzz off, alright Phoebus?"

"Well, now, I'm not sure what I've done wrong here." Phoebus complained, "I just wanted to introduce myself to her. We kind of got off on the wrong foot the other day."

"Well, maybe you ought to just leave her alone then," Clopin fired back, moving closer.

"Well, I might," Phoebus retorted, "If you didn't look like such a—"

Clopin raised his fists, "Don't say it!"

"Whoa, whoa, boys," Esmeralda said, hastily intervening, "There's a little too much testosterone on this sidewalk."

"Hey guys, come on!" another cheerleader called, "It's time to start!"

"Coming!" Esmeralda called, trying to pull Clopin along with her. He pulled away, determined to get in one last word.

" _Stay away from her_."

* * *

Mattie and Esmeralda entered Burger King as the dinner crowd was winding down and the twilight sky was rabidly fading into darkness.

"Do you suppose it's too late to be here?" Mattie asked, nervously, "If my blasted lab hadn't run for so long…"

"No," Esmeralda said dismissively, "We'll be alright. Sobby and I came to celebrate—though he's staying under my shirt so one can steal him."

Mattie cocked her head, and shook her finger, "Now that sounds scandalous, Esma! Who's Sobby?

Esmeralda giggled, "He's my amulet, silly! I named him Sobby."

"Why?" Mattie asked, a smile toying on her lips.

"The ancient Egyptian god, Sobek, was associated with crocodiles and thought to have created the Nile with his sweat. Because of the Nile's importance to the ancient Egyptian's survival, he was associated with fertility and rebirth, but also, because of the croc's fierce reputation, he was a fearsome symbol of Pharaoh's power."

"Oh, neat," Mattie nodded, "but I don't think that Sobby is a name that will strike terror in anyone."

"I'm just hoping for a renewal," Esmeralda sighed, "by finding my mother."

They let their conversation dwindle as they wolfed down their burgers and hurried to a nearby Dairy Queen, determined to treat themselves despite the darkness around them.

"So, what were you saying about getting back to the dorm before it got completely dark?" Mattie joked, as they left under a blanket of stars. Turning up a relatively well-lit residential street, they hoped to avoid trouble.

"Oh, shut up."

"Maybe we should call a cab," Esmeralda continued, thinking out loud, after they'd walked a little ways.

"No, it'll probably take longer for one to come than for us to walk back." Mattie pointed, "See, I see the Golden Dome just ahead."

"You can see the Golden Dome from space," Esmeralda retorted lightly, then added, "No to Uber too, I guess?"

"Come on, _Esma_ —don't be a chicken."

"Alright, fine. The dark creepy streets it is then." After a pause, she added, "Say, who was being a chicken earlier?"

"What? I was just—oh, shut up."

They started walking faster, suddenly more conscious of the noise they were making, but stopped dead in their tracks when they detected movement in some nearby shrubs.

"What the heck was _that_?"

"I don't know."

"Let's get out of here!"

"No, I want to see what it is."

"What if it's some creep?"

"A creep couldn't hide in bushes _that_ small."

"You never know."

"Oh, come on!"

"Oh, alright…"

"Hey, look, it's a baby goat!" Esmeralda exclaimed, as the girls parted the bushes, "Poor little thing; it's caught on the branches."

"Its owner must have forgotten to tie him properly and he ran off and got hung up," Mattie agreed.

"Or someone dumped him."

"Yeah, that's true."

The goat bleated pitifully.

"Ahh, poor little guy," Mattie said.

"He's probably hungry and thirty. We should help him," Esmeralda said.

"What do goats eat?"

"Anything, I think."

"Well, he's not getting my clothes!"

"Ahh, come on. We can find out what they eat on Google back at the dorm, then get him something."

"The _dorm_? We're not allowed to keep animals in the dorm."

"Oh, come on! It's just for the night. I'm sure we'll find its owner tomorrow."

"And if we don't?"

"I don't know…an animal shelter might take him in."

"Well, that's a comforting thought. What if we get caught tonight? We could be expelled for breaking the rules."

"Oh, come on, Mattie! Pleeease? Take the risk. The poor little guy needs us."

"Well…" Mattie sighed. Looking into the goat's eyes melted her heart, "Alright."

Esmeralda grinned, "We should give him a name."

"What? Seriously? He'll be gone tomorrow."

"But he's here tonight. Come on spoil sport!"

"It'll make it that much harder to give him up."

"No it won't. Let's call him Djali."

* * *

The next day, Sarousch stood near the door of the campus's Subway restaurant as students came and went with their lunches. His mind was on his late night conversation with Frollo about how to go about destroying the football program, but suddenly he stiffened, recognizing the cute blonde girl that he'd seem at the Basilica the day before.

"Hi there," he said, poking her shoulder lightly. She jumped like a cat and whirled around, wide-eyed.

"Wh-what?"" It was all she could manage and her nerves roused Sarousch's interest. What was she hiding?

"Putting on an act, he sneered and shook a knowing finger at her. "I know you…I know you, and I saw what you did."

"No, no," Mattie gasped, her face draining of color, "You couldn't have. We made sure." She began to stutter as her nerves went into overdrive."Y-you won't tell, will you?"

Sarousch smiled patronizingly, "Well, I am President Frollo's intern…"

"Ohhh," Mattie moaned, getting heart-sick, "Why did I—"

"But!" Sarousch suddenly looked like a triumph god who had all the answers.

"But!" Mattie exclaimed excitedly, latching hopefully onto the word, "I like but! Yes. I'll do anything!"

"Good!" Sarousch said, knowing that he had won. Frollo and he could use someone to help them take down the football program, "We'll be in touch."

Then he was gone, leaving Mattie standing in line, pale and shaking like a leaf.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : First off, I need to note that Notre Dame University doesn't actually give scholarships for cheerleading; they have a volunteer squad. Also, Freshmen aren't allowed to volunteer for the squad; the school prefers to let them settle into college life before taking on the schedule of a cheerleader.

The first game of Norte Dame's 2012-2013 season was, in fact, played against Navy on the Emerald Isle, so the next chapter will be split between the students and faculty overseas and the ones that stayed home. Be sure to buckle up because the turbulence will only increase.

I put in the bit about the donkey head mask because the Phoebus, Esma, Quasi, and Mattie love-square (as opposed to love-triangle) vaguely reminds me of Shakespeare's play, "A Midsummer's Night's Dream" and its own love square between characters Lysander, Hermia, Demetrius, and Helena. A character in that play, Nick Bottom, gets his head turned into a donkey head via some fairy mischief. Chopin doesn't represent him, but I thought he was the most likely candidate from my story to be wearing a donkey's head.

Thanks to **Annabelle** and **vivinfinity** for your reviews! I do try to update as often as I can, but sometimes "as often as I can" isn't as often as I'd like. I was hoping to get this chapter up sooner, but life has thrown me some curveballs lately.


	3. Game 1 vs The Naval Academy

"What, pray tell, is all _this,_ Mr. Deacon?" Frollo asked as he, the guidance counselor, and Sarousch rode in a limousine past a group of excited Notre Dame revelers, who hadn't made their way into Aviva Stadium, the futuristic-looking football and rugby stadium in Dublin, yet.

" _That_?" the older man asked, perplexed for a moment. "Oh!" he cried, suddenly understanding, "You mean the tailgating?"

"Whatever it's called," Frollo waved an impatient hand and scowled through his darkened window, "It must be stopped."

"I'm not sure if God Himself could stop tailgating," Mr. Deacon joked.

Frollo gave him an icy look, "It's madness," he proclaimed, "Utter foolishness." His eyes flashed with an unhealthy rage, "In fact, I daresay, that it's nothing but a Festival of Fools out there."

"Tell me, Mr. Deacon," he continued, "Is this tailgating foolishness something that the students do once at the beginning of all this football foolishness for good spirit's sake?

"Oh, no, sir," Mr. Deacon assured him, shaking his head firmly, "The fans do this _every_ weekend during the season." He paused before adding, "I suppose some of them _might_ take the bye week off but there's always a game going on, whether it's a Notre Dame game or not." He chuckled despite himself, "People party when their team wins and when their rival teams lose."

"This is ridiculous," Frollo declared, giving Sarousch with a barely perceivable nod. The boy returned the gesture; he knew what he had to do.

*~0~*

"Ugh, when will our game start?" Mattie complained, glancing at her watch and squirming in her seat as she sat among a crowd of other students in the men's dormitory, Fisher Hall's, social lounge. Due to the time difference between Dublin and South Bend it had taken extra effort to get up early and now all she was doing was waiting. For the umpteenth time she thought of Djali, who would be alone in the dorm until halftime. Then, without warning, her conversation with Saroush flashed though her mind and she shuddered involuntarily.

"Cool it girl," Pierre Gringoire, a senior with thick black-framed glasses. Wearing a Notre Dame blazer over khaki shorts, he interrupted her unpleasant reverie but, being a quintessential nerd, he scowled at her for interrupting his own thoughts before going back to writing on his notepad.

"Our game is on another channel and won't start for another hour."

Mattie looked exasperated, wondering how she'd been so stupid as to leave Djali a whole hour earlier than necessary. Thinking of a quick excuse to cover the real reason for her angst, she blurted out, "But my roommate is a cheerleader!"

"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet," Pierre quoted Rousseau before feverishly rubbing his eraser across his notes. Still unsatisfied, he ripped the page off, wadded it up, and tossed it into a trash can sitting several feet away, "Three points."

Mattie rolled her eyes at the back of his head, then bounced up and began weaving her way around people to get to the door, ignoring the conversations around her.

Pierre asked, "Who's ahead?"

"Don't know, don't care," came the reply, "Not our game."

Pushing his glasses higher onto his nose, Pierre asked, "Who's playing?"

"Don't know, don't care. Not us," came the same monotone reply.

"Ah, well, if you don't care about what's what or who's who, then why do you have control of the remote?"

"What?"

"Well, if you don't care about—" Pierre began to repeat, but was shocked into silence when the hulking form of Quasimodo pushed through the double doors. He was flanked by the Goyle siblings.

Mattie reached the door at the same time and jumped back to make way for the burly-looking young man and his three elderly escorts.

Recognizing her immediately, Quasi's face paled, "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"I came to watch the game—like everyone else here," she replied, giving him a funny look, "I only, uh, forgot something in my room."

"Who's this, Quasi?" Laverne asked, scrutinizing the pretty blonde closely.

"I, uh, well—" Quasi stammered.

"Oh!" Mattie gasped, "I bet that I didn't introduce myself before." Quickly, she held out her hand to each of them, saying, "I'm Madellaine, but please call me Mattie." She blushed, "I ran into, um, uh, the other day."

"I, uh, I'm Quasimodo—uh, Quasi." Quasi responded, filling in the blank.

"Come sit with us, my dear," Victor said, offering his arm.

"Oh, thank you, but I can't," Mattie said, blushing again at his kind smile, "I-I need to go back to my dorm, but I'll be back for the game." She couldn't help but to smile at his gentleness.

Then she was gone, brushing past Gudule, who was sweeping in the corner of the room, as she flew out the door. As the door slammed shut, Hugo made his assessment.

"She's kind of cute."

*~0~*

Sarousch was calm and cool as he silently entered the empty locker room and carefully relieved the game balls of some air pressure, making them softer than they should be. Smiling with pleasure at his handiwork, he felt assured that Frollo would be pleased.

Then a wider more sadistic smile creased his lips as he thought about the cheating scandal would surely erupt and, with any luck, bring the football program to a screeching halt.

Suddenly, his body stiffened at the sound of footsteps in the hall and, terrified of being caught by a referee, he frantically dove behind some equipment and duffle bags that were piled high against the lockers. As the footsteps drew closer, he cursed his luck, and thought about how much simpler things would be if that blonde girl were here to do this dirty work and, if necessary, take the fall for it.

The door opened and Phoebus walked in, proudly wearing his cadet's dress uniform. Looking this way and that, he quickly grabbed the cleats that he'd been sent to retrieve and turned to leave. Sarousch was almost in the clear when Phoebus spied the footballs messily strewn around a bench instead of neatly stacked on it.

Wanting to clean up the mess, he walked over and picked up the first football. Instantly, his eyes widen; having played high school ball on his father's team, he knew what happened.

A colorful word shot through his brain as he thought about the scandal that would erupt if this problem wasn't fixed quickly. On the verge of swearing again, he rimly began looking for an air pump.

Suddenly the door opened a crack and Esmeralda's head peeked through, carefully scanning the men's locker room before she came in. Given that Phoebus' back was to the door, she saw him before he saw her, but when she slammed the door shut he whirled around in terror.

"I have permission—" he hurried to explain to the referee before he saw who it really was. Then his jaw dropped in stunned silence because she was so beautiful.

"What are you doing in here?" Esmeralda snapped, her eyes widening and then narrowing. Why was she always running into this guy?

"Help me quick!" he responded, ignoring her question and wrath. He held up one of the footballs, "Before the refs come."

She was taken aback, but recovered to scoff at him, "And why would I do that? You probably—"

"Because the team will be accused of cheating if we don't re-inflate them," he hurled the words angrily at her. Why did she always have it in for him?

A retort was on the tip of her tongue but he was already in her face, yanking her towards the bench.

" _You_ —" she gasped, more angry than frightened.

" _Look_ ," he hissed, shoving a football in her face for inspection. He gently squeezed it to show her how soft they were, "These footballs are underinflated." Dropping the ball on the floor, he shook her, "Why don't you get off your high horse and help me fix them or the team will be disqualified."

Esmeralda wanted to say something smart and slap him for treating her so roughly, but the evidence around her won the day.

"What can we do?" she asked urgently.

"Find an air pump and refill them," he replied simply, already scanning the room again.

"Do you know how much air to put in?" she asked, joining his search.

"Yes, my dad coached my high school team after he retired from the army."

"There!" she exclaimed, spying a pump on the floor beside a pile of equipment and duffle bags. She bounced over to retrieve it and, being fixated on the task at hand, didn't notice Sarousch cringing just inches away from her.

The two set to work and quickly finished the job. Then, sitting back on their heels, they high-fived each other and shared a relieved laugh before freezing at the sound of approaching footsteps.

" _The refs_!" Phoebus gasped, quickly sweeping up his cleats with one hand, " _Run_!"

They bolted out a back door and tore down a long corridor, before Esmeralda skidded to a stop, "I was suppose to get Clopin's other pair of shoes!"

"He'll be fine without them," Phoebus said, yanking her along again, "Tell him they wouldn't let you in because you're a girl."

She sighed as they continued to flee, "I guess no one will notice that the mascot has the wrong shoes anyway."

*~0~*

"So I was thinking that you could ask that cute girl—what's her name—uh, Mattie out," Hugo said, hoping to take Quasi's mind off the disappointment of his crush not being in the room. Standing along the wall, his keen eyes never left the door as he drank his cereal milk straight from the bowl. His siblings stood beside him.

"That's not a bad idea," Victor assented, picking up on what his brother was doing.

"Glory be!" Laverne exclaimed, lifting her hands skyward in praise, "My brothers actually agree on something."

"I think that it's a sign of the end of the world," Quasi said, feeling comfortable enough to gently mock them.

They laughed and applauded his jest, making him blush just as everyone in the room turned their attention to Pierre, who had swiped the remote and stood up to speak.

"Kickoff in ten minutes!" he called in a loud voice, sending an excited murmur though the crowd like a wave.

"I sure hope that Mattie gets back before the kickoff," Quasi said, suddenly getting excited.

As if on cue she burst through the doors, panting and wide-eyed, "Did I miss the kickoff?"

"Nope," Pierre said, grinning and handing her a cup of water from a nearby cooler, "You didn't miss a thing." He pointed to the refreshments' table, "You have just enough time to fill a plate too."

"Great!" she enthused, "I _am_ hungry."

After filling a plate she plopped down next to Quasi and munched for a few minutes, contented by the fact that Djali was safe and eager to see Esmeralda running out onto the field. Finally, she turned and gave Quasi a dazzling smile, "It's nice to meet up with you again."

He blushed under her attention and opened his mouth to reply but found himself tongue-tied.

"Are you a freshman too?" Hugo asked, butting in, wanting to help Quasi find his stride.

" _Hugo_!" Laverne said, through gritted teeth.

"Yes, mother?" he retorted with a toothy grin. His sister glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, that's alright," Mattie said, flashing them a grin, "Yes, I am. My roommate is cheering in her first college game today so I'm super excited."

"Your _roommate_ is a cheerleader?" Victor asked, astonished. He suddenly remembered that Quasi's crush was a cheerleader.

"Why, yes," Mattie replied.

"It's on! It's on!" Pierre's voice suddenly rose above the noise, interrupting all the conversations, "There they are, waiting to come out!"

"Here come the Irish!" Victor sang out, his eyes lighting up as the football team steamed onto the field. The cheerleaders and mascot followed.

"Of Notre Dame," Laverne finished the lyric, singing like her brother.

"There's Esma!" Mattie squealed, clapping excitedly, "There's Esma!"

The quiet girl's sudden outburst made Gudule look up and her face paled when she saw Esmeralda bouncing around on the television screen. Grief and rage twisted her heart.

"That's your _roommate_?" Hugo asked, stunned to see Quasi's crush.

"That's your roommate?" Quasi echoed, his face draining of color. He had the sudden feeling that he'd betrayed the girl he loved by sitting next to her friendly roommate. Getting up quickly, he pretended to go get more food, not noticing that Laverne had followed him.

"What's wrong, Quasi?"

"I can't sit next to her."

"Why not?"

"I'm in love with her roommate."

"All the more reason to sit next to her, I'd say."

"But she likes me."

"I'm sure she does; you're a nice boy. I like you too."

"No, not like that!"

"Why not like that?"

"Because—"

His answer was broken off by loud cheers.

"Touchdown!"Pierre whooped, jumping to his feet to celebrate alongside everyone else.

"That didn't take long," Laverne commented matter-of-factly.

"No, it didn't," Quasi answered, suddenly grinning, "Let's get back before we miss any more."

*~0~*

Phoebus watched with his fellow cadets from seats just above the field as the Fighting Irish scored again and again; To a man they were excited to represent their school's ROTC's program in a special halftime dedication with freshman Plebes from the Naval Academy.

But proud as he was of their halftime responsibilities, he couldn't take his eyes off the vibrant Esmeralda who seemed to be having the time of her life. He marveled at their truce, born out of distress, and hoped that this would be the beginning of something more.

Suddenly, Notre Dame's mascot, Leprechaun, bounced up to her and tossed her high into the air, catching her in one hand. Though his head knew otherwise, it seemed to Phoebus as if they were performing just for him and he gave them a loud whistle to show his approval; due to all the other noise, they didn't even notice.

High up in a corporate box, Frollo's eyes were also drawn to the lithe girl's body flying into the air and he instinctively crumpled the coke can in his hand. Knowing that the image would stay with him forever, his heart and mind began to seethe with rage and lust.

Glancing around, he located Sarousch lumped in a corner, sulking with a beer after the lecture that he'd gotten about his botched effort to scandalize the football team. Frollo walked slowly to him, his grim smile and hulking shadow making him look formidable.

"Sarousch."

The intern looked up bleakly, not wanting to face his boss again so soon.

"Come with me." Steering him over to the huge viewing window, Frollo pointed at Esmeralda, "Is she the girl that you saw in the locker room?"

If Sarousch was ever honest with himself, he would've admitted that he would've said that the girl Frollo was pointing at was the girl in question even if she wasn't, just to please his boss. But he was pleased to see that he didn't have to lie; the beautiful cheerleader was indeed the girl that he'd seen.

"Yes, sir."

"She is, is she?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought as much."

Frollo turned the boy's attention to the cadets.

"Where is the cadet?"

Sarousch scanned the young men, so tightly packed together in their seats, but from high above he was helpless to distinguish Phoebus from the others.

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't tell from here."

"You can't?" Frollo was skeptical.

"No, sir, but I do know him."

"You do?"

"I do, sir. He is a senior like me and we've had some classes together over the years—his name is Phoebus."

"Ahh." Frollo cracked his knuckles, imagining Phoebus' neck locked in his fists, and gave his intern a twisted sadistic smile, "Well, maybe you could arrange for him to meet with me?"

Sarousch knew it wasn't a request and relished the idea of getting back into his boss's good graces, "Absolutely, sir."

"Good."

Suddenly, at least half the crowd began to roar with glee while the other half moaned in frustration making the corporate box, which was between the lower and upper seats, vibrate under the sound. Across the room, the Naval Academy representatives groaned as their team fell another touchdown behind and the Notre Dame representatives cheered, laughed, and toasted each other on a fabulous start to the new season.

Frollo and Sarousch turned beet-red with embarrassment; Notre Dame's success on the field was like rubbing salt in an open wound.

Shortly thereafter the teams headed for their respective locker rooms for halftime and the noise in the corporate box quieted enough for Frollo to think. He wanted nothing more than to get out of Ireland and back to his home turf so that he could rework his strategy and make it foolproof. Then he gasped in shock as the cheerleaders, bands, ROTC cadets, and Naval Academy Plebes took the field for the halftime show.

"No!" he whispered, so softly that no one heard, "Not her!"

His eyes locked on the beautiful Esmeralda and he tracked her dance moments with his eyes. Slowly, he came to the conclusion that they were meant to be together.

*~0~*

Mattie watched the halftime show gleefully but was also bothered by the fact that Quasi didn't seem to be having a good time.

"Is something wrong, Quasi?" she asked politely, getting over her qualms about prying into the personal life of a guy that she barely knew.

"Nothing," he mumbled, popping a sausage into his mouth to stop the conversation.

Mattie turned away and rolled her eyes, then got up and walked to where Pierre continued to scribble furiously on his note pad, then wad up the papers and throw them away in their turn.

"You know," she said, plopping down in the seat he offered, "Most people watch football games when they're at tailgate parties."

Pierre grinned, "Yeah, well, I'm a drama major who volunteers to write plays for this, that, and the other groups around South Bend. But now I'm in some trouble—or will be—because I've been working on some school projects and not on a play that I said I'd help write for the local Children's Museum."

"Oh! Do you mean the one about farm animals?"

He looked surprised, "Why, yes. How did you know?"

Mattie grinned, "I have great ESP."

He laughed, "That's what all the girls say."

"Actually, my roommate is a cheerleader," Mattie admitted, "She told me that our mascot is a volunteer for the Children's Museum and in that very play."

"That's Clopin, yes," Pierre said, nodding in agreement, "He is a nice guy."

"It sounds like you've been busy." she said, retrieving up a wadded scrap that had missed the trash can.

He grabbed it before she could read it, "Oh, please don't read the rubbish that I've created so far."

" _All that_ can't be rubbish," she insisted, spreading her arms to indicate the amount of paper that he'd tossed out, "My word, you've thrown out a tree!"

"Oh, I assure you, its rubbish."

"So you've been busy, as you call it, and you have nothing to show for it?"

"Well," he admitted, "It doesn't feel like I'm busy when I get behind on a lot of stuff and only create this worthless trash." He re-crumpled the scrape that he taken from her and threw it into the trash can while quoting Socrates, "Beware the barrenness of a busy life."

She smiled slightly, "Who said that?"

"Socrates—I love philosophy, maybe even more than theater."

Tilting her head in thought and recalling her conversation with Sarousch, she suddenly felt comfortable enough to cautiously asked, "Do you have any saying about bullying?"

"Bullying?" Pierre looked offended, "Someone is bullying you?"

"Well, I don't know. It felt like it."

"About what?"

Suddenly, she also remembered that she couldn't tell him about her conversation with Sarousch because doing so would reveal Djali's presence. She tried to back out of it.

"Um, well, ah—never mind."

To her great relief, Victor called to her, waving excitedly, "The game is back on, sweetheart. I saved your seat."

She bounced up and hurried away and fell into her seat just as the coverage returned. Closing her eyes briefly, she shook away her foolishly quick tongue and got ready for the second half of a great game. But, upon opening her eyes, she received a huge shock when the camera showed the briefest flash of Esmeralda hugging a burly blond ROTC cadet before training on the kickoff.

I'll have to ask Esma about that, she though. She happened to glance at Quasi and her heartbeat quickened when she saw tears flowing down his face and guessed the truth.

* * *

The second half of the game flew by as Notre Dame scored early and often in the third quarter and then substituted freely in the fourth. Mattie found her mind wandering more often after victory was secured.

She thought of Esma having fun in Ireland and wished that she was there too. She thought the strange scene that she'd seen at the close of halftime, Quasi's reaction to it, and how she felt about his reaction. She thought of Djali and how much she was starting to love that little goat. She thought about the papers that awaited her this weekend and a lab that she had early on Monday. She thought of her conversations with Sarousch and Pierre and how she'd almost gotten Esma and herself in trouble.

But mostly she celebrated a rousing blowout victory and wondered just how far Notre Dame might go after opening the season with a 50-10 win.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Well, I feel sort of dumb for letting current football season slip by while I'm only on the first game in this story. How are everyone's favorite teams doing so far?

Pierre Gringoire is a book character. Originally, I didn't think that I'd use him but he's been in my head lately so I thought that I'd add him. In the book he is a struggling playwright and philosopher. I like him because I too like philosophy.

I know that this chapter may have seemed lame to some people, myself included, but I thought it best to start out with a nonviolent scandal, like deflate-gate, and work my way up to more lethal kinds of mayhem. Also, it was difficult to seriously deepen the plot because about half the characters were in Ireland and the others were back at Notre Dame, but I plan to build on what I've laid down here.


	4. Game 2 vs Purdue

"Why can't you leave Esma alone?" Clopin snarled angrily at Phoebus, his face red with wrath. The two seniors stood toe to toe across the street from a large tailgate party. With the music blaring and drinks flowing, only a few people gave a curious glance their way; the Purdue fans who happened to walk by received far more attention.

"Hey, what's your problem?" Phoebus defended himself, "I know we got off to a rocky start but we're friends now."

"That's what all the guys says," Clopin shot back.

"No, really," Phoebus said, surprised, "Didn't she tell you what happened in Ireland?"

"No, she didn't!" Clopin snapped, "She hates you. That's what she told me."

"I found the footballs underinflated in the locker room before the game," Phoebus explained, "then she walked in—to get _your_ shoes, I might add—and helped me re-inflate them." He shrugged, "We got to being friends."

Clopin scoffed, "I'll be the judge of that!" Without warning, he lunged toward Phoebus, but the ROTC Captain easily maneuvered out of the way; Clopin stumbled into a tree.

"You mean judge, jury, and executioner," Phoebus spat, shaking his head.

"Any last words?" Clopin shouted, clumsily propelling his long legs to a standing position.

"You know," Phoebus snickered, "You look drunk, buddy."

" _Stop_!" Esmeralda's yelled, running up from behind, her hair askew from her haste to get between them, "What do you think you're doing?"

"He's my friend," she continued, hurrying to wrap her arms around Phoebus.

Dumbfounded Clopin, asked, "Why didn't he say so?"

" _I did say so_!" Phoebus huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Come on, Clopin," Esma sighed, pushing him backwards, "We've got to get ready for the game. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about Phoebus."

"Yeah, so am I." Phoebus grumbled.

Esma threw him a lopsided smile, before heading off, her arm looped around Chopin's scarecrow-thin waist.

Chuckling to himself, Phoebus and shook his head and ambled up the street to go into the stadium. When he reached a crosswalk, a shadow fell over him.

"So, this is the gallant Captain Phoebus?" Frollo said, "Your reputation precedes you. Tell me, young man, have you ever sat in a box to watch the game?"

Phoebus was taken aback, "Uh, no sir, not recently, uh, not ever."

"Well, this should be quite an education for you. Come along."

*~0~*

Mattie stood outside Gate E, scrutinizing her ticket and wondering how she'd ever find her one small seat in a stadium that held thousands.

"Can I help you find your seat?" a polite male voice asked from behind.

"Yes, please—," she answered, turning slowly, then gasped; it was President Frollo's intern!

"Good…" Sarousch smiled thinly, "But I want you to help me with something first." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, "Remember…?"

Dread ran down her spine; her mouth went dry. "I remember," she croaked.

"That's a good girl," he gave her shoulder a squeeze, as if to comfort her, "Come along. You'll have to find your seat later."

"Where are you taking me?" she asked nervously, wanting to throw his arm off and run.

"You'll see—no talking now. Just listen."

" _No_!" she snapped, suddenly angry. She yanked her arm away, "Where are you taking me? You owe me that."

"I don't owe you anything," he answered coolly, grinning nastily, "I don't have any secrets." She deflated and his smile grew wider, "Now, be a good girl and come along. I don't have much time." He guided her to a door and opened it. Mattie gulped.

"This hall leads to our team's locker room," he explained, as he produced a handful of small zip-lock bags filled with white powder and a small slip of paper from a backpack. He handed them to her, "Put these in as many of the player's lockers as you can."

Mattie knew what the white power was—marijuana, "Are you crazy?"

"No, questions—I'm very busy."

"Why—I don't—"

 _"I said no question!"_

Desperately searching for a way out, she blurted, "I'm not a locksmith. The lockers will be closed up."

"The combinations are on the paper in your hand."

"And how could I have gotten in the door—I'll tell them that you unlocked it."

"No, you won't." He slowly caressed her check with his thumb, "Remember…"

Mattie was too tortured by what she'd done to stick around for the game. After planting the contraband, she fled the stadium at top speed and didn't stop running until she'd flung herself down on her bed, where she sobbed until she fell asleep.

She woke up several hours later to find Djali nosing around a notebook that had fallen from Esma's desk; with a tiny shriek, she jumped up to save it. No sooner had she done that when the doorknob turned and, caught off guard, she fell into her friend's rolling chair and it promptly rolled out from under her; she fell with a plop on the floor.

"Oh my gosh!" Esma said, entering just time to see, "I'm sorry Mattie! I didn't know you were here!"

"How was the game?" Mattie blurted out, hoping to distract her roommate from noticing her red eyes and blotchy face.

Momentarily taken aback, Esma said, "Oh, wow! We won a real squeaker. 20-17—man, I'm glad that it didn't go to overtime!" She paused, suddenly confused, "Didn't you see it?"

Mattie shrank back. "Ah, no, I, uh, something came up," she mumbled.

Esma gave her a funny look, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Mattie snapped, scrambling to her feet and whirling around to organize her friend's desk, "Djali knocked some stuff off."

Esma laid a hand on her friend's shoulder, her voice gentle, "You don't look alright…"

"Mattie shrugged her off harshly, "I'm fine."

"Well, alright," Esma sighed, seeing that she'd get nowhere.

"Hey guys, open up!" Phoebus called loudly, pounding on the door.

Reacting quickly, Mattie swept Djali up and shoved him under her bed, ignoring his protests.

"Get him out of here—fast," she hissed.

Esma could only nod in response, her face paling. She grabbed the door and pushed her way outside before he could enter. "What are you thinking?" she growled.

"Hey, you invited me!" he protested, surprised.

With the door closed, their conversation was to muted for Mattie to hear but after a few minutes curiosity got the best of her and she moved, Djali in hand, to put her ear to the door. Her heart sank as she caught up with their conversation.

"Are you serious?" Esma asked, stunned, "Ten players had marijuana in their lockers?"

"That's what he said," Phoebus answered soberly, frowning and shaking his head.

"But don't they drug test the players before the game?"

"Yes, and everyone was clean. I don't understand it." He shook his head, "We might have to forfeit the game because the accused players played today."

"That's too bad, we fought hard."

"Yes, we did," he sighed, kicking the wall, "Morons!"

"I'll say. Who are they?"

"I don't know yet."

"Say again how you found out?" Esma said, hardly believing that he'd heard correctly.

Phoebus beamed, "President Frollo invited me to watch the game with him from his box; his intern broke the news just after the final whistle." He shook his head, "I was too stunned to believe it, but do you know, President Frollo was really weird. I could have sworn that he was beaming when he heard about it." He grunted indignantly, "He looked almost giddy when he called the NCAA to self-report too."

"Really?" Esma asked, "How'd his intern find out?" Without waiting for him to responded, she continued sarcastically, "and how'd you get the blessing of sitting with the almighty President Frollo in his box?"

"I don't know how Sarousch, but hey, what can I say about me? I'm a special guy."

"Ha!"

"I am!"

Esma laughed, shaking her head.

"Ah, come on. You know I'm special!"

She rolled her eyes, "Alright, you're special."

"Gee, I don't hear much conviction."

"So, what did you and our dear president talk about?" Esma asked.

"Well, besides my great grades and devilishly good looks, he was rather preoccupied with gripping about how craptastic our nation's educational institutions are."

"Craptastic? Is that even a word?"

He pulled out his phone and found the definition, "Yep, here it is. Merriam-Webster Online says that it's something that is so hideous that referring to it as "crappy" just won't do; a blend of crappy and fantastic."

"Isn't it a little harsh to say America's educational institutions are craptastic?"

Phoebus shrugged, "Our president is a very passionate guy."

Esma snorted, "That's putting it nicely."

"Well, I'm a nice guy."

Esma snorted again, "Listen Phoebus, I've got to go. My roommate is—"

She opened the door mid-sentence and Mattie and Djali stumbled out, sprawling on the hallway carpet. Esma gasped, jumping in front of them to hide the goat.

"Whoa, cool!" Phoebus cried, his eyes lighting up, "I didn't know you guys had a kid." He crackled at his own joke, but was cut off when Djali broke from free from the jumble of arms and legs and bounced up to butt him in the knees.

"Ow, darn it!"

"Well, I guess he just doesn't take kindly to soldiers," Esma replied laughing.

"I guess not," Phoebus scowled, rubbing his knees.

With pleading eyes and voice, Esma asked, "You won't tell anyone, will you?"

Mattie blushed in shame, realizing that hiding the drugs to protect herself and her roommate had been in vain; the upstanding Phoebus would surely not risk his reputation by hiding their secret with them.

"Of course not," Phoebus said, reaching down to pull her to her feet. He winked at her, "You have my word on that."

Then he glanced at his watch, "Say, girls, I've got to run. I've got a test to make up and then I'm going to do some snooping," He shook his head, "Add this to last week's shenanigans and I think there's more going on than just the usual stupid indiscretions."

"You'll keep us up on what you find, won't you?" Esma asked.

"Sure!"

"And let us know if we can help?"

Mattie winced at the suggestion.

"Absolutely!" Phoebus said, his eyes lighting up, "In fact, why don't I come back tonight and give you an update?"

"How about meeting at O'Rourke's? You can update us _and_ treat us."

"Man, what a deal; taking two pretty girls to dinner. Is 7:00 okay"

That'll be fine." Esma answered after a nod from Mattie.

"Can I bring in some other willing detectives if I find any?"

"Only, if we can too! Have you got anyone in mind?"

"Not yet, but I'll keep my eyes open."

She gave him a funny look, "Do you really think that you'll find something today?"

"Well, hey, you never know," he replied, grinning, "After all, I am _me_."

He waved and sauntered off and she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"I've got to get to a cheerleader meeting; you sure that you won't tell me what's wrong?"

Mattie nodded, gritting her teeth to hold the tears back.

Esma nodded sadly, turning away. Then she turned back.

"Well, if you ever want too—"

But Mattie had already gone back inside.

* * *

After the cheerleader's meeting, Clopin hurried down the sidewalk in a daze; in his haste, he nearly collided with Pierre.

"Whoa there, friend," Pierre said good-naturally, catching his elbow as he blew past, "What's the rush?"

"You haven't heard?"

"No…"

"Ten players were caught with marijuana in their lockers."

"What? Seriously? How?" Pierre peppered him with questions, "Don't they drug test the team before every game?"

"Yeah, but apparently someone found marijuana in their lockers." Clopin shrugged, still dumbfounded, "It's pretty hard to argue with hard evidence."

Pierre shook his head, "Who was it?"

"Don't know yet—someone must know, but I don't."

"They'll be suspended for at least a game, won't they?" Pierre asked, "I mean, that's the usual punishment for this kind of thing, isn't it?"

"I think so…and we may have to forfeit this game because they played today." He looked uncertain, "I'm not sure though."

"That's a shame. We got a hard fought victory today."

"Yeah, it sure is, but I heard that President Frollo isn't going to appeal the decision."

Pierre snorted, "That sounds just like him." He shrugged, "But, like you say, you can't argue against hard evidence."

Clopin nodded, "I still can't believe it."

"Denial is the first stage of grief," Pierre said, patting his back, "I'm headed off to finish your part of the Farm play," He grinned, "I'm ready to put it to bed."

"And I'm ready to learn my lines!" Clopin fired back, slapping his shoulder. Then he grabbed Pierre's arm, "Wait at minute, one of my cheerleader friends thinks that there's something fishy going on with the football team." He winced to mention Phoebus, "She has an ROTC friend who thinks the same and they're meeting at O'Rourke's tonight at 7:00 to talk about doing some sleuthing—she invited me to come; would you be interested in joining us?"

Pierre's eyes lit up, "Sure!"

*~0~*

Frollo sat at his desk, staring at his office phone as if hoping that it would ring again; he had mixed emotions running through his mind. On one hand, he'd had a small success by embarrassing the football team in the national media, but on the other, he'd failed to convince the NCAA to impose the death penalty on the program.

Did they not care? Couldn't they see that a program that allowed students to gain access to illegal drugs was unsuitable for such a fine educational intuition?

Suddenly, the door swung open; instinct drove Frollo to his feet even before he could comprehend who was there.

" _What the_ —"

"Now, now, brother," Jehan said with a trace of drunken laughter; he waved his finger as he swayed in the doorway.

" _How did you get in here_?" Frollo demanded, his lips curling into a snarl, " _Who let you in here_?"

"No one is around—I just walked in," Jehan laughed stupidly, "I just wanted to say that we're even now."

" _What_?" Frollo was incredulous, his boiling blood paralyzing him momentarily.

Jehan shrugged, "You gave me five thousand bucks and I paid you back today."

"You most certainly did not!"

"Where'd you get the marijuana then?"

"Get out," Frollo hissed, "Before someone sees you." He came around the desk and gave his brother a hard shove. Jehan fell backwards into the secretary's desk, gashing the side of his head; blood gushed forth and run down his cheek

By Frollo's eyes were no longer on his brother. Gudule had come in to clean and her big green-blue eyes were staring wide-eyed at the two men. For half a second Frollo saw the beautiful Esmarelda and his heart skipped a beat.

"Wha—" Jehan gasped, following his brother's eyes and expression, "Whoa…brother, I had no idea…" He started to crackle as he wiped some of the blood on his face, smearing it. He looked grotesque.

" _Shut up, you fool_!"

"Claude has a sweetie and she's a washed-up old—"

" _Shut up_!" Frollo snapped, his eyes shooting daggers, " _Get out_!"

Jehan wasn't cowed, "Claude and the old bat, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S—"

"You—" Gudule gasped, deeply offended, "How dare you!" She moved as quickly as a cat, slapping him in the face; blood splattered on the nearby furniture.

Watching from behind, Frollo couldn't help but to smile, even as he winced at the mess. He regarded the custodian with a cold politeness, "Leave us, please."

"Of course, sir," Gudule lowered her eyes in deference and hurried out.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G," Jehan started up again, his voice growing hoarse. He coughed a few times then began to gag when Frollo picked him up by his shirt collar, "Hey, wait, you can't do that!"

Frollo beamed insanely, tightening his hold as he neared the elevator. He pressed the call button and, when the elevator arrived, tossed his blue-faced brother to the floor in a heap.

"Get out and stay out."

Storming back into his office, he slammed the door and covered his head with his hands. Pulling his hair in frustrated agony, he was tortured by the image of the beautiful Esmeralda's face on that broken old woman's body.

Would she ever leave him alone? But, no, he didn't want her to leave him alone; he wanted her. What was her name, he wondered. He had to know.

"Sarouch," he spoke urgently into his cell phone, "clear your schedule the best you can. I have another job for you to do."

*~0~*

"Did you hear what happened?" Quasi asked excitedly, as he walked past the cathedral with his elderly friends.

"No…" Laverne replied uncertainly.

"Ten players were caught with marijuana in their lockers during the game—they've been suspended for the next game."

Marijuana?" Victor asked, highly offended.

"Dumb kids," Laverne muttered, "The school pays for their education and then they go and blow it by using drugs."

"I'll say," Hugo agreed, "If they wanted to have a party, they should've looked me up."

Yeah," Quasi said, his voice growing mysterious, "but, get this, I heard that all the players passed their drug tests before the game."

"Oh! A mystery!" Hugo enthused, rubbing his hands together.

"Strange…" Victor frowned, his eyebrows furrowing.

"I'd love to know how it happened," Quasi admitted.

"Perfect!" Phoebus said, coming up from behind. He appraised the group curiously, "Does that mean that I've found four more gumshoes?"

"Gumshoes?" Victor asked, cocking one eyebrow.

"Detectives," Phoebus explained, "Some friends of mine and I think that there's more to this than meets the eye. Last week, in Ireland, someone tried to deflate the game balls—and, I doubt that it was a player. Then," he went on, "this week, ten players have marijuana in their lockers, but everyone passed their drug tests." He shook his head, "It doesn't add up."

"My friends and I," he went on, "are going to meet at O'Rourke's tonight to talk about what we can do to get to the bottom of it."

"Count us in!" Hugo stated readily, rubbing his hands together again. The others nodded.

"Has an investigation been launched by the administration?" Victor asked.

"No, just by my friends and I—and you, if you want to help us."

"Well, we're all about helping the students," Laverne said, her eyes lighting up.

"Perfect!" Phoebus grinned, "Be at O'Rourke's at 7:00 tonight. Dinner will be provided." He paused, then added, "Oh! My friend is Esmeralda and her roommate is Mattie. It'll be them, me, and whoever else we find who's interested."

Quasi recognized the names and paled as Phoebus waved and headed off.

"Mattie," Hugo muttered, thinking hard, "Esma—" Then it dawned on him, "Ohhh!"

He bumped Quasi's ribs and whisper, "Now's your chance."

* * *

Clouds filled the sky as patrons came and went and the little group of detectives gathered around a long table in a darkened corner, but the moon still managed to find the space to bathe O'Roucke's in its light. Phoebus and Clopin sat on either side of Esma, Quasi and the Goyles sat across from them along the wall, and Mattie and Pierre were the bookends. After introductions, Phoebus opened the meeting with great news.

"Just before I came over," he said happily, "I found out that there were two sets of fingerprints consistently found on each of the bags, but none were the player's fingerprints. Since no evidence was found that the players exactly used the marijuana, the suspensions have been lifted."

"That was quick," Pierre muttered.

"Good thing too," Clopin answered, "We'll need everyone for Michigan State next weekend."

"True that," Esma said.

"Have they found the, ah, the people who the fingerprints belong too?" Mattie asked, nonchalantly, her heart racing.

"No, not yet, but I'm sure they will!" Phoebus said, a surge of anger making his voice rise. Then his posture sagged, "Listen guys, I'm sorry, but I didn't find out anything else." He stuck his chin out stubbornly, "But you just wait! All I need is more time."

"No, young man," Victor corrected, finishing his wine and holding his glass up for a refill, "You accomplished a great deal today." He counted the heads seated around the table, "You've convinced eight other people that Notre Dame football is under attack and to help you find the culprits."

"Now, that is something!" Laverne agreed, hitting her palm with her fist, "No one in their right minds would expect you to solve this on your own in one day."

"So, what's our next move?" Phoebus challenged them, "The Michigan State game is away and it'll be a lot harder to stop any mischief on a strange campus—let alone come any closer to finding the perpetrators of the last two incidents."

He continued, pointing to himself, "I, of course, will be going up to watch. Who else is going?"

"Lansing is only about a hundred and fifty miles from here," Pierre noted, "Of course, I'd be going to the game regardless of distance. Go Irish!"

A wave of applause and whistles went around the table, as if school spirit was indoctrinated into them, regardless of the topic or tone of conversation.

"Clopin and I will be there, of course," Esma said, "But we'll be rather preoccupied before, during, and after the game."

"But, we'll keep our eyes open just the same," Clopin reiterated. Leaning back in his chair, he wrapped a long arm around Esma, earning unconscious scowls from Phoebus and Quasi.

"You coming too?" Pierre asked Mattie.

"Ah, uh," her face flushed red, "Oh sure, why not?" She gave him a fake smile, though he didn't realize it, "I'd love too."

"You need a ride?" he asked.

"Nah, I'll drive."

"I'm afraid that we old folks are going to have to stay here." Victor said, "The busy roads are kind of rough for us."

"Speak for yourself, brother!" Laverne became animated, "I love fast cars and wild coeds."

Another smattering of applause went around the table.

"Me too!" Hugo agreed, grinning at his sister.

"So you'd leave me at home to watch the game by myself?" Victor asked, astonished.

"I'll stay with you," Quasi offered.

"What? No! You can't sit back and watch from here, Quasi!" Hugo said, adamantly shaking his head.

"Well, someone has to hang out with Victor," Quasi argued, "and, besides, I don't do so well in a strange crowd."

"Quais, Quasi," Laverne admonished, "That's no way to talk. You must go to the game!"

"Oh, I couldn't."

"You could!" she insisted.

"I shouldn't."

"You should!" Hugo chimed in.

"Now, now," Victor's admonished, "if Quasi don't want to—"

"Well, actually," Phoebus said, quietly interrupting their argument, "I think it would be a good idea for some of us to stay here." He smiled hopefully, "We might find out something useful."

"Then, it's settled!" Quasi proclaimed.

"Fine, fine" Laverne consented, sighing, "We'll stay too."

"Sticks-in-the-mud," Hugo muttered, nodding reluctantly.

"When should we be in Lansing?" Pierre asked, "Shouldn't we go up far enough in advance so that we can investigate beforehand?"

"What can we do beforehand?" Mattie asked rhetorically, hoping to delay any discovery.

"Can we all pay for hotel rooms and get there Friday evening?" Phoebus asked, "Is that possible?"

"I have a late class on Friday," Pierre grumbled, "but I don't mind a late drive." He shrugged, "It's only about two hours."

Phoebus snorted, "That _if_ I-80, I-90, and I-69 have minimal traffic and things are moving along—as in, _not_ on a game weekend!"

Pierre shrugged indifferently, "So, it'll take a little longer. Who cares?" He winked at Laverne, adding, "Besides, I drive fast."

"Why don't you just come up Saturday morning?" Phoebus asked.

"Better three hours too soon than a minute too late," Pierre replied, grinning as he quoted Shakespeare.

"You could save yourself the hotel fare," Phoebus said, giving him a funny look.

"And miss some of the fun," Pierre shot back.

"If anyone needs money for a hotel, I can pay," Mattie offered, acquiescing to the fact that she couldn't stop them, "Living in a circus family does have its perks."

"Lucky you." Quasi said, thinking of his own childhood in government housing. He stifled a yawn.

"Ah, there you go, my boy," Victor said, patting his misshapen back, "I'm getting tired too."

"Shall we adjourn?" Phoebus asked kindly, then animatedly added, "Oh, let's exchange phone numbers!" He pulled a notepad out of his jean's pocket and wrote his number before passing it around, "I'll make copies tomorrow and make sure we all get one."

"A splendid plan, Captain!" Victor agreed, saluting.

Everyone readily assented as the prepared to disperse. Then Quasi called them back.

"Shouldn't we name our little group?"

"Now, that's what I'm talking about!" Hugo agreed, "You pick the name, Quasi!"

"Oh, no, we should vote on it."

"We'll go with whatever you decide, Quasi," Esma said; he smiled and blushed at her attention.

"Well, uh, how about Irish Fighting for Truth?"

"The IFT sounds perfect." Esma said, as she waltzed through the door that Victor held for her.

Mattie trailed behind the others, still feeling the weight of responsibility on her shoulders; she gasped when someone grabbed her shoulder from behind.

"I hope you weren't too chatty with your friends," Sarousch said.

"No!" Mattie said, yanking her arm, trying to free herself, "What do you want? Haven't I done enough?"

"Apparently not," he replied, looking glum, "The NCAA hasn't given the football team the death penalty yet."

She gasped, "So that's what this is about?"

He tightened his grip on her shoulder, "Don't ever tell anyone what you know— _or I'll tell them what I know_."

Mattie paled, wide-eyed, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place.

Sarousch continued, "For now, just tell me who the pretty cheerleader is…"

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Sorry for the long delay. I've been crazy busy lately and there was about a week and a half when I couldn't even find my flash drive.

I first fell in love with the word "craptastic" a number of years ago when I saw used to describe my favorite team's archrival.

For those who don't know, a young goat is called a kid. That's a bit farm humor. Also, for those that don't know, the death penalty in college sports means that the NCAA would shut down the school's program for a certain number of years due to egregious violations.

O'Rourke's Public House is a campus pub at that serves burgers and Irish fare until the wee hours of the morning. It has old world decorations and is popular on game days.


	5. Game 3 vs Michigan State

Mattie reclined in her East Lansing Marriot hotel room on Friday evening, indescribably relieved to be away from Sarousch and also free from the burden of keeping Djali.

As she flipped through the television channels, she marveled over how the elderly Goyles had agreed to take over caring for the little goat so that the girls wouldn't get into trouble. It had been hard for Esma to say goodbye to him because she'd gotten really attached to him and begun to teach him tricks, but she readily admitted to the unfairness of keeping him.

Suddenly Mattie's cell phone rang, forcing her to scramble and find it among her luggage.

"Hello?" she answered, relieved to catch it before the answering machine came on.

"Oh, hi Quasi! What? Oh, no, I'm not Esma; she's not here. She'll come up tomorrow with the team." She paused to listen, "That's right, she's still at school tonight." Laughing, she added, "That's okay, I don't mind; I'm not doing anything right now anyway."

"Yeah, things are pretty quiet here." she continued, after another pause, "I haven't heard from anyone since I got here." Another pause, "No, I just grabbed a burger and fries at McDonald's on my way up."

"So," she inquired, hoping to keep the conversation going; she knew that she'd be bored once he hung up, "What's going on back at the school?"

"Oh! You're staying at the Goyles tonight?" She chuckled, "How's Djali?" Gasping, "Really? Playing chess with Hugo? That I have to see!"

"Well, uh," she continued, "Are you feeling well?" She knew it was a lame question but she wanted company.

Surprisingly, Quasi had been getting chattier during their conversation and he talked at length about the myriad of health problems that were associated with his humpback.

"So, what's your major?" Mattie asked, moving on after exhausting all talk on health issues, "Oh, Art! That sounds like fun." After a paused to listen, "Oh, neat, a collection of wood carvings! Haha." She gasped, ' _You're making wood carvings of everyone in the team?_ No way! I want to see mine when I get back! I don't care if it's not done."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and she jumped in surprise.

"Uh, say, Quasi, I've got to go. Someone is at the door." she listened as she walked for the door, "Yeah, I hope it's one of our team too. Phoebus, Pierre, _anybody_!"

Quickly yanking open the door, she forget to unlock the chain. Gasping, she jumped back. It was Sarousch!

"How did you find me?" she demanded, keeping her distance; she began to tremble, "What do you want?"

"Your help," he replied coolly, his sharp eyes keenly studying her though the gap that the chained door provided, "Never mind how I found you."

"You'd better do better than that," she snapped.

"Let me in!" he demanded.

"Get lost."

"What about your secret, sweetheart?" he countered, reminding her of Djali.

"What that?".she asked, tossing her head back nonchalantly and almost cracking up with relief.

"Let me in, girl!" he snapped.

"No!" she retorted, her eyes flashing as her confidence grew.

"Yes!" he answered, gritting his teeth. Seething with rage, he added, "Just remember, girl, I _know_ your secret!"

"What secret?" she asked sweetly, her eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Girl!" he snarled, even as his heart raced with anxiousness at her unconcerned attitude. Shaking the chain, he tried to unhook it.

Gasping in surprise, she slammed his hand in the door; as tears of fear rolled down her cheeks, she heard his screams and watched his fingers turn purple.

Then, whirling around, she fled to the phone to call the hotel's security.

*~0~*

Quasi stared at the telephone for a long time after the line had gone dead, ignoring the Goyle's curious stares. Finally, he sighed and Laverne slammed her _Good Housekeeping_ magazine into her lap.

"Dadgummit, Quasi," she fumed, "Aren't you going tell us what she said?"

"Yeah!" Hugo agreed loudly, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he studied the chessboard; Djali bleated, indicating that he should hurry up and make his move.

"And why didn't you ask her out like you said you would?" Victor admonished, "I heard a lot of talk but no dinner dates."

"Uh, well," Quasi explained, chuckling nervously as he dug his toes into the brown shag carpet, "I actually called Mattie by accident. She's at a Lansing hotel right now; Esma will travel up with the rest of the cheerleaders tomorrow."

"Oh, shoot!" Laverne said, scowling, "What a time for you to spend the night with us."

Yeah," Hugo complained, "Man, you could've had a one night stand!"

" _Hugo_!" Victor and Laverne scolded angrily.

"Really, brother," Victor continued, highly incensed, "That was lower than I thought even _you_ would stoop."

Hugo shank back under their stares, "Well, uh, yeah. I guess you're right. Sorry about that."

"My, my," Victor retorted sarcastically, "Another one of Hugo's sterling apologies. Really, brother, even _you_ could—"

"Oh, please don't start arguing again," Quasi cut in, "I don't want you to go to bed upset with each other."

"Stay out of this, Quasi," Victor admonished, "You deserve to be shown some respect!"

"Yes, he does, Victor!" Laverne snapped, indigent, "And that's why you're going to shut up. He asked you too."

"But, Laverne! Hugo's hopeless!"

"You're telling me," Hugo interrupted, still befuddled over his next move, "I'm losing to a goat!"

"But nothing!" Laverne snapped at Victor.

Suddenly, much to Quasi's relief, the phone started ringing.

"Hello, Goyle residence," he answered hurriedly, "Oh, hey Phoebus." He listened for a moment, "Yeah, we're all here."

Speaking to his hosts, he said, "He wants to know if we found out anything today?"

"Victor did," Lavene answered, "Put him on speaker phone."

"Phoebus, my lad!" Victor said, "I just happened to run into my old friend, Archie Deacon, today. He was quite riled up about President Frollo's attitude towards the football team."

He cleared his throat, then continued, "He wasn't to forth coming at first, and frankly I don't blame him, but he said that President Frollo hates football and, after each Notre Dame victory, he always has alcohol on his breath." Shrugging, he added, "It's not much but I thought that it was curious."

"Well, I know from experience that our dear ole President is a passionate guy when it comes to academics," Phoebus answered cautiously, uncomfortable with bashing someone in authority, "I got the feeling that he thinks athletics gets in the way, but maybe that's all it is."

"I hope so," Victor said, "But, call it a premonition; I'm going to keep digging around." Changing the subject to easier things, he asked, "Where are you right now, Captain?"

"I'm just pulling into the parking lot of the Marriot where Mattie is staying." His voice was anxious, "When I called her a little while ago she sounded pretty upset about something so I'm came to check on her—my hotel is just a little ways away," Then he added softly, "I was dumb to not coordinate where all of us non-cheerleaders are staying."

* * *

Tears streamed down Esma's cheeks as she limped up to where Clopin and the other cheerleaders were waiting to board an early morning bus to Lansing. She couldn't fathom why the old custodian had trip her at the top of the stairs but the outcome was that her ankle was badly swollen.

"Esma!" Clopin called, loping up to her, his face paled when he saw her tears, " _What happened_?"

"I fell down the stairs," she answered simply, trying to be cheerful; she hedged the truth to keep him from getting angry at a school employee.

"You?" Clopin questioned, startled, "Miss Graceful?"

"Yeah, well, even Miss Graceful has bad days."

"But bad days don't make Miss Graceful cry an ocean of tears," he chastised gently, "What _really_ happened?"

"I can't get much past you, can I?"

"I like to think so."

She gave him a sweet smile.

"You're stalling."

"It works on most guys."

"I'm not like most guys."

"Hey, Clopin, Esmeralda!" their coach called, interrupting them, "Let's go!"

Clopin tensed, sensing that Esma wouldn't be able to come and hating it.

"What gives, guys?" the coach asked, coming over.

"I tripped on the stairs this morning," Esma admitted, looking down in apology.

" _Oh_!" the coach gasped, "That does look bad—you'll have to stay behind to have it looked at."

"I understand," Esma said, sighing in disappointment.

"Better get it x-rayed," the coach sympathetically patted her shoulder, "But hopefully you'll only have to miss this game." Turning to Clopin, she said, "Let's go, Leprechaun."

Locking eyes with Esma before turning to follow the coach, he silently mouthed, "I won't forget about this."

*~0~*

"I expect you to be more careful today," Frollo coldly rebuked Sarousch as the two ate breakfast in his hotel room, "There's no room for error anymore."

Sarousch rolled his eyes, "There's never room for error, sir." Then, shrugging indifferently, he added, "And I talked my way out of last night, remember? The security guard was a chump."

"Don't mock me, _you fool_!" Frollo hissed, his eyes flaming for a moment, "I'm above reproach! I won't be associated with anyone who will sully my reputation!" His calm cold veneer returned, "Of course, if you're tired of being my intern, I could have you replace…" He snapped his fingers, emulating the sound of breaking bones, "Of course, I couldn't run the risk of you talking one day..."

"What about your brother?" Sarousch fired back, not taking the hint, "At least I have a _clean_ record."

"Leave Jehan out of this!"

"Why? He's a loser."

Frollo's nearly came out of his chair. " _Strike one_ ," he snarled, "My little brother is brilliant. He's just confused; our parents died when he was young."

Then suddenly he snapped back under control and strode to the door, "Get your things together. You don't have much time to do your job today," He smiled cruelly, "I must attend a press conference and stoke the flames that we've stirred up."

"What am I doing?"

"Planting microphones in the Spartan's locker room; I want to involve the Irish coaching staff in my fun." His eyes lit up with insanity, "Just before halftime I want you to disappear for a while. Then come in while I'm giving halftime interviews about how amazing our football team is and announce the discovery of our new little scandal."

Throwing Sarousch a deep scowl, he added, "I hope that you can do the job alone since you've apparently lost your little accomplice."

"Don't worry," Sarousch was cool, "Mattie is easily manipulated. She'll still help me."

"What exactly are you holding against her?" Frollo ask curiously.

"I don't know exactly," Sarousch admitted, uncomfortably shifting his weight back and forth, "But I'm sure that she's guilty of something.

Frollo blew air into his cheeks in indignation and slapped his forehead, dropping his hand slowly, "You're an idiot." Then his gaze hardened. "Well, you'd better _find out_ ," he snapped, " _today_!"

* * *

Esma sat on the grass beside the Basilica of the Sacred Heart, her newly diagnosed sprained ankle propped up against a medium-sized ground-level gargoyle. Being completely dejected, she didn't notice Quasi slowly ambling up from the sidewalk.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, surprised and confused, "I thought that you'd left this morning."

With a sad frown and sigh she indicated her bandaged ankle and he practically melted with sorrow.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he babbled, "Here, let me help you." He reached for her foot but she jerked it away with a wince of pain.

"Thanks but no thanks." She gave him a funny look, "It's fine where it is."

"Oh, right," he paused awkwardly, making her smile in amusement.

"So what bring you out this way?" she asked, seizing the opportunity to stir the conversation to firmer ground.

"Oh, I was staying over at the Goyles last night; Phoebus called Victor told him that Mr. Deacon told him that President Frollo has been pretty disparaging towards the football team." he shrugged, "Because of my special circumstances, Mr. Deacon has kind of taken me under his wing so I thought that I'd follow him around to see if I can find out something else."

"Now, wait a minute, Quasi," Esma frowned, "First off, what do you mean, your "special circumstances" and second, what will you tell Mr. Deacon for an excuse if he ask why you're following him around?"

"Well, first, uh, look at me…" he said, baffled.

"I _am_ looking at you," she retorted, then more gently, added, "And all I see is a college freshman, like myself, who's just trying to figure out where they want to go in life."

"Most people don't see that," he admitted quietly.

"Well, " _most people_ " are idiots," she remarked, then added philosophically, "Actually, at some pointy or another, we're _all_ idiots."

"Oh no, not you, Esma," he protested.

She laughed, "No one is immune from being a dummy." Before he protest again, she got back to business, "So, what about the second part of my question?"

"Oh, well, I don't know… I didn't think that I needed to have an excuse."

She gave him a strange look, "Quasi, Quasi, don't you know anything about privacy?"

"We'll, I guess not," he said, looking down, thinking that she must be ashamed of him, "With the way that I look, most people just ignore me. I've heard all sorts of things because people just don't care that I'm around."

"Oh, Quasi!" she exclaimed, heartbroken, "I'm so sorry." She sighed, "I know what it feels like to be left out too, you know."

"Oh no!" he gasped, "Not you. Yo-you're kind and good and, and—"

"And a foreign orphan," she finished.

""From my experience, kindness and goodness don't get you very far in this world," she went on, then grasped his hand with a wink, "But maybe this world is wrong."

Suddenly, they heard Mr. Deacon's voice behind them and whirled around to see the guidance councilor and another man wearing an NCAA badge talking as they walked quickly towards the Basilica's front doors.

"Speaking of—"Esma started to say, as she scrambled to her feet with gritted teeth to keep from yelping; Quasi scrambled up to catch her.

"Let's go and eavesdrop the right way," she said, hobbling towards a side door, "In secret."

*~0~*

As Mattie stood in line to go into the stadium, she kept a wary eye out for Sarousch, but was hopeful that she could enjoy the game in peace and anonymity. How could he dare to bother her after last night?

"So, you thought that I'd be easy to get rid of, did you, sweetheart?" his voice whispered in her ear as he quickly looped his arm around her.

"How did you get here?" she gasped, her face pale and body ridged.

"Like everyone else, sweetheart?" he cooed, brushing a wisp of her blonde hair off her cheek, "I drove."

Tipping her head back, he kissed her passionately in front of everyone and then made a big show of her breathless expression; he was rewarded with laughs, applause, and a few catcalls from the fans in line.

Then, suddenly, he was separated from his prey by a pair of thick rough hands while another smaller smoother pair supported his terrified victim before she dropped to the ground in shock. Mattie's eyes widen at this new development but before she could make a sound, one of the good Samaritans spoke.

"Now, why would you go and make poor Mattie have to wash her face right before the game, Sarousch?" Phoebus growled, easily holding the intern's manicured hands behind his back.

"Yeah, what are you thinking?" Pierre demanded icily, as he held Mattie protectively, "Stadiums aren't a great place for a lady to get her face scrubbed off." Then he turned to Mattie and added, "You alright?"

"Y-y-yes," she stammered.

"Hey, let me go!" Sarousch snapped, attempting to wither away from Phoebus.

"Fat chance," the captain guffawed, "Do you really think that after last night—"

Sarousch interrupted by screaming at the top of his lungs, startling everyone within earshot; almost immediately two burly policemen arrived on the scene.

" _What's going on here_?" they demanded.

"My girlfriend and I were just going in to enjoy the game," Sarousch spluttered, "Then her ex shows up with this thug to beat me up!" His eyes were wide as saucers, " _You've gotta do something, officers!_ "

The two cops eyed Pierre and Phoebus; they looked like frozen gargoyles with their mouths gaping open.

"Wait a minute," Mattie intervened, "You're insane, Sarousch! I've never dated any of these guys before, officers."

"She's lying!" Sarousch screamed, getting more hysterical, "Poor thing is so upset that she's lying! Ask anyone here, officers; everyone saw us kissing!" He pointed at his face, "See, I've got her lipstick on me!"

"I think that maybe it would be best to get this straightened out at the station," one officer said, eying the four seething young people with concern.

"I agree," his partner concurred, "Come on, you guys. No more trouble now."

The trip to the station didn't take very long but the consternation in the crowded backseat threatened to boil over by the time the back door was opened.

"Chain reaction," Phoebus silently mouthed as his eyes blazed. He flexed his elbow slightly to make his point. Then he winked to let the surprised Mattie know that he was only joking.

"Alright!" one of the officer's said, once they were seated in the air conditioning, "I really don't want to get into the middle of a ridiculous love triangle and, quite frankly, with it being a game day, I have better things to do than dragging college students in here to lecture them about acting their age."

"But, that being said," he continued, "It's my job to keep the peace and I'm certainly not going to have a brawl getting carried into the stadium."

"Believe me, sir," Pierre interrupted, "We didn't have any intention of—"

"Hang on, son," the officer cut in, "I wasn't done talking."

"Well, just remember what Buddha said," Pierre came back, "Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace."

" _What_?" the officer asked, growing more annoyed.

"Now, wait a minute—shut up, Pierre," Mattie interjected, "I can clean this up, officer, and we can all be on our way."

The officer raised his eyebrows, "Oh, really, miss? And here I thought that I was going to get to talk."

Mattie blushed with embarrassment but her aggravation spurred her on again.

"Please, sir," she argued hurriedly, pointing at Sarousch, "I'm not dating this punk; he's been bothering me at school and then he came to my hotel room last night and tried to get in. I had to call hotel security, sir!" She took a deep breath to cool her rising blood pressure, "Then he came up to me while I was in line, grabbed me, and kissed me. I assure you sir, it was _not_ consensual!" She gestured at Phoebus and Pierre, "These guys are my good friends; they care about me. I told Phoebus about what happened last night—"

"And I told Pierre this morning," Phoebus interrupted.

"I was really happy when they showed up to pull this jerk off of me," Mattie finished.

The officer listened with a frown, still irked about not being able to give his lecture, but he turned to Sarousch and asked, "Is this true, son?"

"Of course, not, sir!" he replied anxiously, "Why would I do that?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea, son."

"What are you thinking, man?" Pierre snapped; having been quiet through the exchange until now, his indignation suddenly blazed forth.

"I'm just telling the truth!" Sarousch shot back, egging him on.

In a flash, Pierre flew out of his seat and swung a punch at Sarousch, who toppled onto the floor. Phoebus jumped to restrain Pierre but the officer, hurrying to intervene, collided with him and was accidently knocked to the hard tile floor. Mattie started screaming.

Scrambling to his feet, the officer's face was red with embarrassment as he grabbed Phoebus and put him in handcuffs, "I'll teach you to assault of officer of the law!" he snarled.

"What the—" Pierre yelled angrily, "Hey, he didn't do anything! You can't do that!"

"Oh, he can't, can't he?" the other officer snapped, who had been sitting nearby, listening with a stone-faced expression, until the fight broke out, grabbed the young philosopher and slapped handcuffs on him too, "We'll see about that!"

Sarousch was on the floor, wheezing and trying to catch his breath from the blow that Pierre had landed but was already guffawing. Furious at his disregard for the seriousness of the situation, the second officer yanked him off the floor and put him in handcuffs too.

"Why don't you do us all a favor and pipe down, girl!" the first officer snapped sharply to get Mattie's attention, "Your friends are just fine." Signaling the other officer to follow him, he started pulling Phoebus down a corridor, "Why don't you get out of here, miss? I'm just going to let your friends have a little "time-out."

Mattie stayed rooted to the spot until the boys disappeared from view. Then, with her whole body trembling and her mind blank with shock, she turned and walked out of the station.

What do I do? she thought, almost paralyzed with panic, what do I do?

*~0~*

Having stood behind the statue of St. Paul, outside the Chapel of St. Joseph that opened into the east transept of the Basilica, for over an hour while Mr. Deacon and the NCAA official talked in the narthex at the other end of the long aisle; Esma and Quasi were getting impatient and fidgety.

They were so far away that it was difficult to hear what was said and what they did hear was mostly useless to their search. The investigation into who planted the marijuana and why was going nowhere but Notre Dame's reputation hadn't suffered in the public eye. Then, best of all, they learned, via a phone call to the guidance councilor, that the game in Lansing had gone off without hitch and Notre Dame had won again, 20-3.

"Thank goodness!" Mr. Deacon murmured with evident relief.

The NCAA official sighed, "Notre Dame looks good this year; I'd hate to see you fouled up by scandal," His tone changed to disgust, "Of course, lucky for you, most people don't bat an eyelash if they're favorite team cheats."

"That is a shame," Mr. Deacon said regretfully.

"That it is," the official agreed, then rolled his eyes, "Of course, all hell breaks loose if their rivals cheat."

"I can't believe that they haven't seen us," Quasi whispered, briefly drawing Esma's attention away from the conversation, "My feet getting sore."

He is right about one thing, she thought, as she looked at the splendor around her, the atmosphere in here is uncomfortable; she pressed a finger to her lips, warning him to be quiet.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he whispered a few minutes later, forgetting to be quiet again; she threw him a withering glare this time and he shrunk back, feeling unworthy to be her partner in sleuthing.

Suddenly, her cell phone began ringing and, with eyes as wide as saucers, the two fled through the side door just a few steps away.

" _What was that_?" the official asked, looking their way just as the door slammed shut, "Was someone listening to us?"

"I don't know," Mr. Deacon muttered, clearly disturbed, "but, I'll find out."

*~0~*

Mattie stared glumly at her cell phone as tears began to run down her face; Esma wasn't picking up her phone and she was getting angry enough at the day's events to throw her phone into the busy street.

"What to do, what to do? she anguished, thinking of her friends sitting in a jail cell with Frollo's awful intern.

Suddenly, looking up, she realized that, in her stupor, she'd walked all the way back to Spartan Stadium and, given all the people who were streaming out, the game was over.

Maybe now I can get Esma to answer! Mattie though, her hopes rising again; she punched the speed dial button.

"Hey, Mattie, what's up?" Clopin asked, "How's Esma doing?"

" _What_ , isn't she with you?" she answered, surprised that she'd called the wrong number.

"Uh, no…she did something to her ankle on her way to the bus this morning. Had to stay at the school to get it checked out." Anxiously, he added, "I've been worried all day."

"Oh no, no," she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, Mattie?" his voice was suddenly sharp, breaking through her dread and making her steady again, "I'm sure that it's not the end of the world."

"Phoebus and Pierre got arrested for defending me against Sarousch."

There was a long pause and Mattie's heart skipped a beat. Was he still there?

"Where are you?" he asked.

"Outside," she choked back a sob.

" _Where_ , Mattie!"

"Uh…" she looked around at all the unfamiliar landmarks, her mind spinning, "Uh…I'm outside Gate 1."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

Mattie sighed deeply as she felt the weight suddenly drop off her shoulders; she wiped away a few tears and decided to try Esma again.

"Hey, Mattie!" her roommate sounded out of breath, "What's up?"

"Well, ah," Mattie hesitated, tongue-tied, "ah…"

"What's wrong?" Esma demanded, sensing a significant problem.

"Phoebus and Pierre got arrested today."

* * *

Frollo was dressed in a green and white Michigan State sweater, baseball cap, and jeans when he stormed into the police station to fetched Sarousch; he grabbed his intern's ear and pinched until it was purple.

"OWWW," Sarousch howled, "Hey, what did I do?"

The officers in the room cringed at the sight but didn't step in; Sarousch had been a lousy inmate so they were ready to let him have a little payback.

"You let me down," Frollo hissed in a hoarse whisper, their faces so close together that Sarousch had to wipe spit of his cheek, "The game went off without a hitch!"

Suddenly, the double doors swung open and a familiar voice stopped Frollo in his tracks.

"Alright, everybody!" Victor said, pushing up his sleeves as he led the group of gumshoes into the station to free their colleagues, "Let's get this figured out."

"Yeah!" Hugo agreed, "Imagine, Feeble getting arrested!"

"Hugo!" Laverne growled, smacking the back of his head.

"What—oh! His name is Doofus, isn't it?"

Esma and Mattie laughed because they knew that he was joking; Clopin and Quasi laughed because they thought that it was funny.

Frollo's mouth went dry at the sight of the beautiful Esmeralda and it occurred to him that he must be always running into her for a reason. Noticing that her ankle and foot were heavily bandaged, he was instantly jealous that Chopin was supporting her.

No, he thought, I should be with her!

"Are we free to go?" he asked the officer, anxious to get away before he was recognized.

"Yep, no charges, just a lesson." Looking at Sarousch, he added seriously, "Stay out of trouble, son."

"Yes, sir," Sarousch mumbled as Frollo shoved him towards the door.

"Say," Hugo said, as he watched the door slam with a crinkled eyebrow, "Was that President Frollo in a Spartan sweater?"

"Of course not, Hugo!" Laverne snapped, hitting him again, "Frollo in a Spartan sweater?"

"Really, Hugo," Victor admonished, shaking his head.

"Yeah, but…" Hugo started, pointing toward the door, "that guy—" He was interrupted when Esma let out a happy scream.

"Pierre!" she cried, Much to Clopin and Quasi's embarrassment, she ran to him and flung herself into his arms. Turning to the officer escorting him, she pleaded, "Oh, please sir! Don't keep him in jail. We're going to be married soon!"

"What?" Pierre was stunned as Esma swept him into a tight embrace and kissed him on the lips.

The officer looked amused, and said, "Look miss, your friends aren't in trouble. They're free to go."

"Oh?" Esma instantly dropped her arms and scooted back a few steps; she stiffened when the doors opened and Phoebus sauntered out nonchalantly.

The ROTC Captain eyes' lit up at the sight of her and bolting over, he swept her off her feet and spun her around, "Esma, you came!"

Quickly, Quasi came forward to hustle them out; as soon as they were outside, Pierre nudged Phoebus' side, "Hey, man, what you doing hanging on my girl like that?"

" _Your girl_!"

"Yeah, she even said so."

" _What?"_

" _Pierre_!" Esma cried.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

" _Pierre_! We're not getting married!"

" _Married_?" Phoebus was astounded.

"No!" she cried, "I only said that to possibly, maybe, get you out sooner."

"Oh, okay," Pierre sighed, "I get it." He shook his head, dejectedly, then a twinkle rose in his eyes, "But it was the best four minutes of my day!"

"Can I ask you something?" Phoebus asked Esma.

"Sure…"

"Would you have married me if I had walked out first?"

She smiled at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Sorry about the pathetically long delay! I had some family health issues that kept me busy and not in a good writing mood (particularly where this story was concerned) and then I needed to focus on two Christmas stories in December. Also, I may or may not have lost my flash drive again for a while; I don't remember.

Also I'm sorry if the police station scenes were offensive; I didn't intend for them to look abusive. In the book, Esmeralda saves Pierre from a group of vagabonds by agreeing to marry him for four years (weird, I know) and I was trying to set up something similar but getting it from my brain to the page made for some awkward, or just plain dumb, conversations or situations.

Chain Reaction is a little game that I made up for long car rides when I was a kid! All you need is a few people sitting in a line, elbows, and ribs. Hee hee.

Thank you, **Guest**! I fixed it.


	6. Game 4 vs Michigan

Sitting on a remote park bench, Jehan used an ancient cell phone to gingerly call a local talk-radio station while he adjusted the dials on the small portable radio. Both items were gifts from his brother to facilitate Frollo's newest scheme.

Licking his parched lips while the phone rang, he thought about the whiskey bottles that had been promised if he could pull this off.

"Hello, hello, this is Neil Armstrong and it looks like Notre Dame is blasting off towards the championship!" the DJ's voice rang pleasantly, "Go Irish!" There was a short pause while he blew into some random noisemakers, "Welcome to open mic Friday, friend! What's on your mind today?"

"Uh, uh, well," Jehan stammered, his heart pounding, "I-I-I have information that some football players are selling memorabilia in return for special perks." His voice sounded like a boy who'd just hit puberty.

A stifled gasped and a long pause followed before the DJ found his voice; those moments made Jehan want to hang up and run far away.

"Um, ah, would you like to elaborate, sir?" the DJ's tensely questioned.

"M-my friends b-bought some th-things from them—fro-from ah, well, ah, fro-from _them_ ," Jehan stumbled through his lines but stopped abruptly; Frollo hadn't given him any names to accuse!

"From _who_?" the DJ logically demanded.

"I-I forgot," Jehan replied quickly, "I-I-I mean, I don't know. I mean, I didn't ask. I—."

He quickly hung up, knowing that he'd blown it. What would his brother say?

Frollo thinks that he's so smart, he thought angrily, as he stared at his hands in shame, but he didn't give me any names! I don't even like football. How would I know any of the players?

Biting his lip, his eyes grew dark for a moment, then he hid his face and his hands and wept, "And now I'll have to face him."

*~0~*

Frollo was listening to his Ferrari's radio in his own driveway when his brother called in and he ground his teeth in frustration when Jehan hung up prematurely. This wasn't how things were supposed to work!

Can't he think on his feet? Frollo raged internally, Everyone knows the names of a few players! Who's going to believe his story now?

Quickly, turning off the radio, he yanked his phone out of his coat pocket. It rang at least five times.

" _What were you thinking_?" he shouted, when Jehan's hesitant voice finally came through, uncharacteristically heedless of being heard by his neighbors, "You didn't give him any evidence! _You fool_! Now, it's little more than a rumor that is easily disproved. They probably think that you're just some punk—probably some punk from Ann Arbor! They probably won't even report it! You miserable failure! You—"

"Ann Arbor?" Jehan interrupted, confusion taking away his fear for a moment, "Who's she?"

"Ann Arbor, stupid!" Frollo bellowed, "Ann Arbor! The University of Michigan is in Ann Arbor! It's a city, not a person, you idiot!" His eyes bulged with fury, "What's wrong with you, you fool! What's wrong with _you_!"

"I didn't have any evidence," Jehan exploded, silently berating himself for not preparing for this call, "What did you expect me to say? Notre Dame kicker John Doe and quarterback GI Joe sold their underwear for tic-tac-toe perks? Give me a break! I don't even like football and I don't lie well on my feet."

"Are you kidding me?" Frollo retorted icily, "You're the King of Lies! How else do you get money for your drugs, your prostitutes, your—" Smoke was almost coming out of his ears, "You get back on that phone and you make your story stick!" He paused, forcing himself to relax, then spoke with soft cruelty, "Use your ventriloquism if you must, brother; you always have had a way with words, but mark this, and mark it well, if I fail, I will tear your miserable hide from your bones."

" _Hey_ , mommy and daddy left me half their fortune! Remember?" Jehan snapped, picking up on what Frollo had said about his money.

"With strict stipulations that you finish school first!" Frollo shot back.

"I did finish school!"

"They meant more than _high school_!"

"How do you know?"

"They told me before they died."

"Now, who's lying!" Jehan crackled.

"I didn't lie. How dare you accuse someone in _my_ position!"

Jehan's laughter grew hysterical.

" _Listen you fool_!" Frollo spat, infuriated by his brother's insolence, "You call that station back! You call them back and give them your friends' name! I don't care which friends you use but you give them names! _You give them—I want the football team shut down, do you hear me_? _I want it shut down_!"

The line was already dead.

That fool! Frollo thought, seething internally as he stared at his phone, there has to be a better way to get what I want.

Then inspiration hit him and he quickly punched in his intern's number.

* * *

"Phoebus, my lad!" Victor spoke excitedly into the phone, "Are you near a TV?"

"Yes, sir, I'm doing homework in the dorm," the ROTC Captian replied, "I'll to be gone next weekend for training so I'm working like a fiend to get ahead in my classes. What's up?"

"The evening news; the top story is another scandal. I was listening to the radio station this afternoon when this punk called in saying that his friends had exchanged memorabilia for perks with some players. He hung up at one point and then called back—"

"The guy hung up in the middle of the conversation and then called back?" Phoebus interrupted, shocked.

"Yeah, I sort of assumed that he had a bad connection or something, but his story was never very convincing either so it made me curious. Anyway, the news will be on in a minute and they had a teaser about it. Can you take a break from your work?"

"Certainly," Phoebus answered, "Glad too, actually."

"Say, brother, can we help you make calls?" Laverne asked, taking a break from her knitting when Victor hung up and began punching in another number.

"Sure! I'd be happy to split up the list."

"Good!" She hopped up, spilling the contents of her lap on the floor, "This old lady doesn't like just sitting around when there's work to be done!"

"I was about call Clopin and then, I think, ole Archie, as well" Victor said, "He probably already knows but I'll call him and maybe help the team gain a little insight." He winked at her, "You, sister, can call Quasi and Pierre; Hugo can take Esma and Mattie—when he gets done with his chess game."

" _Hugo_!" Laverne snapped, "Get over here!"

"Just a minute, Laverne," Hugo muttered, waving a distracted hand; he'd barely heard his name called.

" _Now_!" Laverne exploded, "There's no time to waste. The news will be on in a minute."

"Alright, alright," he said, "Sorry, ole pal." He rubbed Djali's head with playful roughness and ambled over, "Tell me again, why is the news important?"

"There's another football scandal," Victor lectured, rolling his eyes, "Remember, I told you, some players have been accused of giving away memorabilia in return for perks."

"What perks?" Hugo was instantly curious.

" _Hugo_!" Laverne growled, raising her fist to swing at him

"The usual stuff, Victor replied, rolling his eyes again, "Free food, tattoos, tickets to a concerts, that sort of thing." He frowned at his sister for egging their brother on with her threat to punch him as he finished, "Come help us call our teammates so they know to watch; then we'll all know what's going on."

"Works for me!" Hugo said, "Who do I call?"

"Mattie and Esma."

"Alright, alright," Hugo was suddenly animated, "Girls!"

"Whirling around so that his back was towards them, he pulled out his phone and punched in their dorm number, "Hi girls! I've got big news!"

* * *

"What the—?" Esma gasped as she rifled through her laundry basket late that night, "Why, _that old—"_

Choking up with emotion, tears spilled from her cheeks as she unconsciously grasped the amulet around her neck, squeezing it hard, "I can't believe this!"

"What is it?" Mattie asked, whirling around in her chair, eyes wide with curiosity. She was so distracted by her friend's anguish that she didn't notice that her smoothie straw was dangling from her bottom lip.

"That custodian stole my favorite dress!"

" _That_ custodian? _Oh_ , you mean the lady who tripped you last week. How could she have stolen your dress?"

"Because, I'm a fool!" Esma growled, her eyes scanning the room for something within easy reach to throw, "She told me that she was sorry about what she did last week and that she wanted to make up for it,"

A dazed look came into her eyes as she recalled the conversation, "There's a home game tomorrow and I was in a hurry so I believed her too! What an idiot I am! She said that she'd mind my laundry for me. I felt bad for her. I don't usually, you know, but there was _something_ about her. I just felt bad and came up here to finish citing that biology paper before things get crazy and _she_ _stole my dress_." Finding nothing that she wanted to throw, Esma savagely kicked the wall repeatedly, "That's the last time that I trust _anyone_!"

"Well, gee, I hope that you don't mean me too," Mattie quipped lightly, hoping to ease her friend's anger before she did damage to school property.

Esma stopped kicking the wall for a moment, frowning thoughtfully, "No, no, you're not just anyone."

Mattie rose quickly and wrapped her friend into a tight hug, saying "Good." Then she stepped back and asked a gentle but pragmatic question, "Are _you certain_ that you've looked everywhere?"

"Yes, of course!" Esma snapped, suddenly indigent, "I don't throw accusations around lightly!" Burning anger flamed into her eyes, "That _witch_ stole my dress!"

"No, no, you don't. I'm sorry." Mattie hurriedly agreed, "I'm really sorry, Esma. It's just that it's a school employee; I wanted to be _absolutely_ sure."

"And you have a right to be," Esma sighed, suddenly deflated, "I'm sorry too." Kicking the wall again, she added furiously, " _I just can't believe this_!"

Suddenly there was a knock on their door and both girls jumped. In unison, they asked, "Were you expecting someone this late?"

"Heigh-ho, girls!" Phoebus sang out, "Does anyone want to take me to dinner before it's off to work I go? I have the graveyard shift tonight!"

"You mean a midnight snack!" Mattie retorted, her tone just as good-natured.

Esma, looking frantic, hissed, "I don't want him or Clopin finding out about this! Tomorrow, before the game, I'm going to find that custodian, confront her, and get my dress back and I don't want _them_ to help," She implored her roommate with panic, "I'm afraid; don't let him in here. He'll know something's up. Would you go out with him and make some excuse for me?"

"Your wish is my command," Mattie said, giving a flamboyant bow before bouncing towards the door. She barely opened it to slide out, saying, "The night shift, eh? What do you do?"

"That's top secret." Phoebus replied, winking and wagging his finger playfully, "All I know is that I have orders from the top— _the very top_." He paused as Mattie began escorting him down the hall, "Hey, what about Esma? Shouldn't we wait for her?"

"She has a big paper due tomorrow."

* * *

"Did you hear the news yesterday?" Pierre anxiously asked Clopin the next morning, as the two boys fell into step together on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I heard, a new scandal erupted for our beleaguered football team. Blah, blah, blah." Clopin answered, his voice aggravated, "Just one more thing."

"Do I sense something amiss in your life, ole friend?"

"Esma is upset about something and won't tell me what," Clopin volunteered, wiping sweat off his face even in the early morning, "She hardly spoke a word to me this morning."

"Oh-uh, it's not _you_ , is it?"

" _How the heck am I supposed to know_?" Clopin snapped. He shook his head, peeved, "Honesty, the dumb football team isn't even on my radar this morning. If they can't handle their own problems, I certainly can't help them!"

"Ohh! This from our mascot?" Pierre teased gently, "That doesn't bode well for us."

"Shut up, Pierre, I'm not in the mood."

"Hey, I'm sorry you're having trouble with Esma," Pierre switched tactics, "Isn't it just like the female species to leave us in the dark when they're mad? All we ever want to do is help them out and make it right and all we get in return is the cold shoulder."

He sighed then continued, "Maybe it'll work itself out on its own. You know how girls can be; one minute up, the next down." He patted Clopin's back, "The school needs us now, buddy. We're undefeated so far but these scandals could really derail things; we need to find out what's going on." His eyes danced, "Say, did you hear, ESPN is talking championship talk about this team! I know the season is still young, but isn't that great!"

He finished with a rousing admonishment, "Come on mascot! We need you!"

"And I need my girl," Clopin answered, forlornly staring at the ground.

"Buddy, all I can say is " _women_ ", Pierre sighed, patting his back again. Almost quoting Babe Ruth, he continued, "As far as they're concerned, I say, every strike out brings you closer to a home run." He paused, then laughed, "I'm just glad that most girls think that I'm a geek."

"You mean, most _people_ think that you're a geek," Clopin corrected him, allowing himself to crack up too.

" _Hey_!" Pierre protested, then sheepishly nodded, "Well, yeah, I guess that shoe fits."

"Hey, guys!" Laverne's voice called them from behind and they turned and trotted over to where she, her brothers, and Quasi waited, "We tried calling you last night, but neither of you picked up. What gives? Did you guys hear about the new scandal?"

"That we did," Pierre acknowledged, "What a bum thing. Geez, it's like God's out to get us or something."

"Why so upset, Clopin?" Victor asked, changing the subject, "Surely, you don't think that our great players are guilty of such crimes?"

"No," Clopin sighed, "It has nothing to do with that."

"Esma is upset with him," Pierre volunteered, not noticing Hugo bump Quasi's ribs with a wink and a grin.

"Oh, dear," Victor was understandingly.

"She'll get over it," Laverne assured everyone, "Sometimes, girls are girls—believe me, _I know_."

"Everybody knows that you know, Laverne," Hugo muttered.

"What was that?" she snapped.

"Never mind, Laverne," Victor said, intervening in their argument again, "We need to get to the stadium and help Phoebus." He glanced at Clopin and Pierre, "You boys want to come?"

"Sure," Pierre agreed, "What does Phoebus need help with?"

"Don't know. He called late last night," Laverne explained, "Sounded weird and wanted to talk about something, but I think he was afraid too." With concern, she went on, "It's not like him to be afraid and I have a feeling that it's connected with the football team." Finishing, she added, "He said he was in the stadium working on a project that came straight from President Frollo and would be there all night so I told him that we'd meet him by Gate A this morning."

"I can only stay until I have to get ready for the game," Clopin reminded them soberly.

"That's fine," Laverne answered.

"Feeble said that he'd have breakfast for us," Hugo interjected as they neared the stadium. Tearing a hunk of beef jerky from a plastic bag in his back pocket, he stuffed it in his mouth.

"So why are you eating?" Victor asked, "I'm sure that _Phoebus_ will have something delicious. I hear Army fare is great."

"Where'd you hear that?" Laverne asked.

"Never mind," Pierre said, suddenly pointing ahead, "There's he is!"

"What's up, brother?" he called, running towards the ROTC Captain.

Hugo tore another wad of jerky off and tossed it into his mouth, causing Victor to punch him in the shoulder, "We let you be as unclothe as you like at home, please don't act like a gargoyle in public."

"What do gargoyles do but stand there and stare?" Hugo replied laughing; he stopped short and stood still with his full mouth open, imitating the stone creatures.

"I would laugh so hard if a bird flew in your mouth right now," Laverne said, cracking up. Then she changed the Pierre returned with Phoebus in tow, "What's up?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Hugo echoed, "Where's the grub?"

"Last night was weird," Phoebus replied, cautiously, "Not necessarily in a bad way; just a weird way." He sighed, "Come on, I'll tell you over breakfast so Clopin can listen in before he has to suit up as Leprechaun."

"President Frollo called me last night" he began, once they were all seated in the campus Burger King with their food, "He wanted me to set Notre Dame t-shirts out on all eighty thousand plus seats in the stadium as a gift to the fans who come to the game today."

"That's nice of him," Victor said.

"It was," Phoebus agreed, "But, that's what I was doing all night, not the weird part."

"Well, do tell, do tell, " Quasi said, breaking his silence.

"Yeah, don't keep us in suspense," Pierre admonished, "Clopin needs a good ole mystery to distract him from Esma's womanly torment."

" _What_?" Phoebus narrowed his eyes.

"She's mad at him and won't tell him why," Pierre rolled his eyes, "just like any woman."

"Hey, Esma's not just any woman!" Quasi snapped, jumping to her defense.

"How would you know?" Clopin snapped in return, "I spend the most time with her."

"Hey, now, just a minute," Phoebus argued, "Are you saying that you spend more time—"

"I most certainly do," Clopin insisted, "Twice a day practices and some tutoring."

"Oh, the big bad senior needs sweet Esma's help?" Phoubus guffawed.

"I tutor her!" Clopin growled.

"Alright, alright, _alright_!" Laverne's voice rose above the din, " _Enough of this_! Phoebus finish your story and the rest of ya'll shut up! For heaven's sake, you'd think that you boys were about to eat each other, not _with each other_."

"Alright, alright," Phoebus sighed, a slight growl still in his voice. He looked squarely at Clopin and Quasi, "Truce?"

After a protracted silence, they replied, "Truce."

Phoebus took a long sip of his coffee, letting his anger cool as his thoughts rolled back to the night before, "The weird thing was, no matter what President Frollo said, I don't think that I was alone in that stadium last night."

* * *

"Did he catch you last night?" Frollo asked Sarousch casually, without turning his head as they watched the last few minutes of the first half of the game from the President's box.

"Of course not," Sarousch replied with lofty arrogance, tossing his head back.

"Did you get the film?"

"Certainly, I recorded him in the stadium all night." Sarousch grinned wickedly, "If we ever need someone to take the fall for a scandal, we'll have our dear Captain and Photoshop ready to volunteer."

"At least for home games," Frollo commented dryly.

"At _all_ games!" Sarousch replied, "Remember, Photoshop does miracles."

"I'm not talking about your school ID photo, you know," Frollo retorted, with soft cruelty.

"Well, at any rate, those players that your brother accused are sitting on the bench right now," Sarousch changed the subject, after a swift glance around the room to see if someone was listening

"Only because the coach won't risk a scandal," Frollo murmured darkly, "That does not suit our purposes." Frowning deeply, he added, "Be careful; we're in public."

"The coach is a weak fool," Sarousch replied, scowling.

Changing the subject again, Frollo asked, "What about that girl that you had…helping…you the first few weeks? What was her name again?"

"Mattie," Sarousch replied, "She's become…a problem, of late."

Frollo cocked an eyebrow and snorted softly, "As I recall, she was never any help in the first place." He paused, eying his intern with distain, "Did you ever find out her secret, _like I asked you too_?"

Sarousch cringed reflectively, "No, sir."

" _Why not_?" Frollo snapped, almost rising from his chair in fury before catching himself.

"I-I-I" Sarousch fumbled for words, "I-didn't have a chance."

"That's ridiculous!" Frollo hissed.

"She avoids me, sir" Sarousch babbled, his voice naturally rising as he hurried to explain, "She avoids me like the plague."

"Oh, come on, man!" Frollo was aghast, pressing a finger to his thin lips as a reminder, "What kind of an excuse is that? Come on, she's a _girl_! Man up, man! Find her and make your own dirt on her!"

Sarousch shrank down in his seat, frightened by Frollo's menace, "Alright, alright, I will!" Glancing down towards the field, he suddenly noticed the cheerleaders running onto the field for their halftime performance.

Suddenly pointing, he cried, "Hey, isn't that your crush?"

" _What_?" Frollo's attention jerked towards the field. Then his head whipped sharply back towards his smirking intern. He snarled, " _Shut up_!"

* * *

After the hard fought victory, Clopin and Esma headed towards the campus restaurant, Legends of Norte Dame, to meet their friends, celebrate the win, and soothe their angst over some of their best players having to sit out because of a lie.

"13-6!" Clopin enthused, happier to have Esma on his arm than he was about the win.

Suddenly, Esma caught sight of Gudule walking down the opposite sidewalk. Having not found her earlier, the pretty cheerleader's expression suddenly glowed, but she caught herself before her companion noticed.

"Oh, shoot!" she said, stopping short.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I-uh-I left my backpack on the sideline…" She threw him an apologetic smile, "Why don't you go ahead…"

"Esma…" he started to say, annoyed that she was sliding back into the morning's evasive attitude.

"Really, go ahead," she insisted, cutting him off.

"Esma, I'm getting tired of this…"

Her smile was forced but after a moment's hesitation, she answered, "Alright fine. I need to talk to someone—privately." She shrugged and threw him a more nonchalant smile, "I just don't want you getting involved, okay?"

He scowled and narrowed his eyes, "Well, hey, I don't make a habit of getting involved in my friends' every business, but the fact that you thought that I might want to be involved makes me curious…"

Her smile rabidly became forced again and she laughed nervously, "I'll see you over at the restaurant, okay?"

He shrugged, "Alright, whatever you say."

With that, she turned and loped over to where the older woman was sitting on a bench, scowling at all the celebrating young people; her hand clenched the amulet in her pocket until her fingers turned white.

"Hi," Esma said, forcing herself to be pleasant despite her raging emotions, "Can we talk for a minute?"

"No need, girlie," Gudule replied gruffly, "I know why you're here."

"Then you'll give me back my dress." Esma stated, growing hopeful.

"No can do, girlie," Gudule answered, grinning in triumph, "I've already turned it into some nice cleaning rags."

Esma gasped, her knees almost buckling with the unexpected shock.

"How could you?" she stammered, "How could you? You had no right. That was _my dress_. My _favorite dress_. You _wicked, wicked, cruel woman_ "

At a loss, Esma turned and fled the scene, weeping into her hands as she ran.

Gudule smiled after her with a small measure of satisfaction.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : From now on, I'm not going to apologize for late updates. A busy life is a busy life, isn't it?


	7. The Bye-Week

"I just finished my bye-week game schedule, "Mattie announced triumphantly as Esma sailed into the room Friday evening after dinner.

"Good for you," Esma responded with lackluster enthusiasm.

"Oh, boy! I can tell that you're excited." Mattie teased, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing…"

"Now, don't start that. I'm not Phoebus _or_ Clopin, who can be kept in the dark, more or less. I'm your _roommate_. _I live with you_ , Esma." Mattie frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, " _What's up_?"

After hesitating for long moments, Esma finally sighed and admitted, "Tomorrow, I intend to do some research on that custodian who ruined my dress—I've already found out that her name is Gudule." Her expression was dark and foreboding, "What happened to me last weekend _can't_ be the first time that she's done something to someone."

"Hmm, whatever happened to forgive and forget?"

"Oh, no, that isn't going to happen! _That woman_! _She_ —" Esma exploded..

"But, she's an _employee_ , Esma!" Mattie stressed, aghast.

"Do you know, Mattie, I've been watching her this week," Esma continued, still fired up making an attempt to calm herself, "I've never seen anyone be so crusty and cruel to _literally everyone_. I can't believe the school hired her. I just—I just—I want her to pay somehow. You know, before she can hurt someone else."

"A crusade against the custodian it is then," Mattie said flatly, shaking her head, "I assume that you want her fired?"

"That would be preferable," Esma concurred.

"Doesn't that seem a bit harsh?" Mattie pressed again, "Gosh, the lady probably gets paid peanuts."

"Then she shouldn't have crossed me," Esma stated firmly, raising her chin, as if to ward off further objection, "I don't think she really wants to be here if she's going to treat the students like trash."

"So, you know what she wants now, huh?" Mattie asked.

"I don't care," Esma snapped.

"Don't you think that you're a little too close to the situation to make a call on her motives," Mattie asked.

" _Who's side are you on_?" Esma shot back, "You haven't been watching her all week, Mattie. You don't know what she's done."

"And you know too well," Mattie argued, "Be careful, Esma. You risk sounding like a student scorned." She gave her friend a meaningful look, "The powers that be won't be interested in listening to an angry rant from a scorned student."

"I'm going through with this!" Esma insisted, her tone still hot, "I'm not just ranting, Mattie. This woman is a real nutcase."

"Did you report what you saw?" Mattie asked pointedly.

"Yes, of course," Esma rolled her eyes, "The campus police are investigating, but that'll take weeks. I want to do my own investigation and then go to the administration and get her canned."

"And you'd like some help from your detective friends, I suppose?" Mattie guessed, just avoiding rolling her eyes.

"No, just you," Esma said, "The others can't know about it either." She implored her roommate with her eyes, " _You're_ the only one who can know about this."

"Great," Mattie responded, with a fake smile, thinking about the other things that only she knew about.

~*0*~

Frowning deeply in thought, Quasi stared at the TV guide in his hand, vainly trying to decide which games to watch. He loved football but, given the prejudice of his handicap, most people assumed that he didn't like sports and never talked with him about it; he always felt like he was on the outside looking in.

Finally, tossing the guide aside, he huffed, "Ah, forget it. I'm no good at this anyway."

Suddenly, his cell phone rang and he leapt to grab it, happy for a distraction.

"Hey, Quasi!" the Goyle siblings sang out over the line, "We just called to see what your bye-week plans are?"

"Plans?" he replied sarcastically, "Ah, come on guys, you know I don't have plans."

"So, will this be the weekend?" Hugo asked mysteriously.

"Huh, whoa, wait, what are you talking about?" Quasi asked, laughing nervously.

"You're going to ask Esma out, right?" Laverne asked.

"Whoa, hang on, are you guys nuts?" Quasi protested, shaking his head, "Who said that?"

"Ah, come on, Quasi" Victor encouraged, "It's the perfect weekend to try."

"Yeah, Phoebus is out of town for training," Hugo reminded him.

"She doesn't want me," Quasi reminded them lamely.

"How would you know," Laverne snapped, "You've never asked her. Heck, she probably doesn't even know that you like her."

"That's good," Quasi answered, laughing nervously again.

"If I picked a weekend to ask her out, this would be the one," Victor encouraged again.

"Good thing I'm not you," Quasi quipped, growing increasingly uncomfortable; he hated it when they ganged up on him like this because he wasn't comfortable arguing with elderly people.

"What about Clopin?" he added lamely, hoping to end the discussion.

"What about him?" Laverne answered.

`"He likes her."

"So do you."

"Quasi, Quasi, Quasi," Hugo said, with a hint of exasperation in his voice, "Don't you know that all's fair in love and war?"

"Who said that?" Quasi asked.

"I don't know," Hugo answered, "But, if I remember, I'll ask Pierre the next time I see him."

~*0*~

"So, the players in the memorabilia for perks scandal will sit out for six games..." Frollo purred, as he hung up the phone after a long conference call with NCAA officials, "Pity." He smiled serenely; then he scowled with anger because his ultimate goal of shutting down the entire program had failed.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Frollo answered it quietly.

Sarousch opened the door a crack and slipped noiselessly inside. Because it was the bye-week, Frollo hadn't assigned him to any sabotage work and he struggled to hold his angst in check.

"You're not happy," Frollo stated, after staring at his intern for a long minute; he slowly stroked his chin and smiled in amusement, "That's good. We've won a small battle, but our war must continue."

"Oh?" Sarousch questioned.

"The players that my brother implicated last week will have to sit on the bench for six games—five more including last week." Frollo explained, a perpetual frown darkening his stark features, "But the NCAA didn't agree with me that the whole season should be cancelled."

"Good for your brother," Sarousch answered sullenly; Jehan was his main rival for Frollo's attention.

Reading his intern's thoughts, Frollo was more amused than ever; Speaking condescendingly, he said, "Ah, poor, poor, Sarousch. But, don't feel bad; I have something for you to do this weekend too."

" _What_?" Sarousch's voice rose in anticipation.

"Find out more about your little friend," Frollo's eyes flashed dangerously, "You've put that off for too long."

* * *

The next morning, Quasi walked down the sidewalk with a purposeful stride and pounding heart; The Goyles had convinced him that today was indeed the day that he would ask Esma out; in one of his thick bear-like hands, he carried a small pick rose as his token. Since she was a cheerleader, he thought that it would be perfect if they could watch some games together and he hoped that she would explain the game to him.

As he approached her dormitory his step automatically slowed, as it always that did when girls were involved. His head drooped in shame. Could he really do this? What if she laughed in his face?

"Hey, Quasi!" Mattie gasped as she opened the door, almost hitting his down turned face.

"Hey-whoa-sorry!" he answered, picking his head up and skidding to a stop just in time to avoid hitting her.

"Ooh, a rose!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in excitement and almost dropping the TV guide in her hand, "But, why so glum? Did some stupid girl just turn you down?"

"No, no," he said, blushing, "Nobody that turns me down is dumb,"

The heck they aren't!" she insisted, "You're a sweet boy." She blushed, slightly uncomfortable with her outburst, even though she wouldn't take it back.

They stood facing each other in awkward silence for several moments.

"What have you got?" Quasi finally asked, nodding at the guide.

"Oh, this? It's my TV guide. I circled all my game winner predictions in blue ink and double circled all the games that I want to watch today in red ink."

"Oh, so you like football?" he asked, his eyes lighting up.

"You bet! I make winner predictions each week, but the bye week has special meaning." She grinned, her eyes sparkling like diamonds, "It seems _slightly_ less stressful." She nodded at him, "What about you?"

"I wish that I knew more about it," he admitted, "But people don't take my interest seriously," he shrugged, "because of the way I look."

"That's terrible!" she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside, "Come on, _I_ can explain football to you."

"Oh, well-uh," he said, grasping at straws to come up with an excuse, "I need to speak with Esma right now."

"Oh!" Mattie's eyes widened briefly, "Well, uh, you're a bit late. She left early this morning. She has a uh, um, an assignment due soon."

~*0*~

Esma settled into a chair in the enormous school library, determined to find some dirt on Gudule. Due to years of trolling websites like or government and adoption agency databases, she was an old pro at finding people but, in this case, she had a number of things working against her.

She didn't know Gudule's full name or anything about her family. She didn't know if she was a natural born citizen, a legal immigrant or, she though darkly, an _illegal_ immigrant.

"Hmm, who are you and where did you come from?" she muttered ironically; she had asked herself that question for many years too.

Finally, she settled on searching for a list of school employees and then cross-referencing them with a local telephone book to find Guldule's last name and address. Then, she decided, she'd walk to the woman's house and confront her again.

"Hi, Esma!" Victor's friendly voice called from behind, "Are your studies so pressing that you can't even take in some games on our bye-week?"

Esma laughed nervously, fearful of getting caught, "No, this is…uh, more of a pet project."

"On game day?" he questioned, gently teasing her, "Isn't that sort of sacrilegious?"

Giggling, she replied, "I suppose it is, but it beats flunking out of college because I worked on this instead of my studies." She shrugged, "I've got some free time this weekend and this is how I want to spend it," She added a small smile, softening her ridged but pretty features "Well, at least part of it—but I promise you, I _will not_ neglect the religion of football."

"Good for you!" he said, nodding approval, He stared to walk away, then paused, "Say, can I do something to help your project?"

"No sir, thank you though. _This_ , I must do on my own."

"Alright then, see you at dinner as usual?"

"I'll be there."

Mattie and Quasi lounged on a sofa in the common room of her dormitory, munching on popcorn and talking during the commercials and between games.

"Say, look at you, mister-I-don't-know-anything-about-football, you haven't done half bad with your picks today!" she exclaimed, "You've called the winner in every game so far!"

"I'm sure that it's just dumb luck," he answered shyly.

"That doesn't matter," she grinned, "Mostly that's what betting is anyway, dumb luck, whether it's football, horseracing, dog racing, gambling, you name it." Her eyes sparkled with genuine enjoyment, "Ten percent handicapping, ninety percent dumb luck—and it's awfully fun to say you won!"

"Yeah, it is!" They smiled at each other, then he added, "I bet it's cool to grow up in the circus."

She laughed airily, as if she'd heard that before, and shrugged, "It is what it is. I don't think that it's much different than other situations. It's just that being a circus kid is kind of extraordinary and most people only see the glam in it so they assume that it's amazing." She shrugged again, "My life has just as much elephant poop out too."

"I bet that Esma would change her life, if she could." Quasi stated.

"You never know," Mattie answered, "Her situation wasn't, and isn't, ideal, but she's beaten down a lot of odds and won a lot of battles and never let go of her dreams. If she really didn't like anything about her life, I think that it would be awfully hard to accomplish _that_."

"You're her roommate," Quasi questioned, " but I barely know her outside of our detective team; what does she like to do in her spare time?"

Mattie laughed again and shook her head, "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"I'm not good at talking to girls." he answered quietly, letting his head droop.

"You're doing fine now," she retorted without angst. Cocking her head, she added, in a slightly terse tone, "Or am I just not girlie enough for you?"

"I didn't mean it that way," he said, blushing, "I'm sorry, Mattie. See, I'm not good at this!"

Mattie scowled. "You were doing fine—but, never mind. I'll forget it if you will."

"Gladly!" Quasi answered, relieved.

~*0*~

Clopin hadn't seen Esma all day and, without Phoebus around to blame, he was more frustrated and worried than angry.

"Where could she be?" he groused, speaking just a little too loudly.

"Hmm, still pining for Esma, are you?" Pierre asked. Coming up from behind, he rested his hand on Clopin's shoulder.

"Yes," Clopin answered shortly, jerking away, annoyed at being heard.

"Hey, don't blame me," Pierre said, "You let your inner monologue get a little too loud."

"Shut up, Pierre!" Clopin snapped.

"Alright, fine, I can take a hint. Heck, I was only going to say that I saw her hard at work in the library about an hour ago."

Clopin whirled around, a hopeful expression lighting his face.

Pierre shrugged nonchalantly, "She might not be there _now_ but she was hard at work then."

"Thanks buddy!" Clopin exclaimed; spinning around, he started loping off. Then he hesitated, "I wonder why she's not watching the games?"

Pierre shrugged again, "Beats me; maybe she needs a break from football." He ginned, "After all, she's on the sideline every week!" He watched in silence as Clopin lope away again. Then suddenly, he called out, "Hey, buddy! It's probably not any of my business, but don't you think that you're crowding her a bit? Esma is a big girl; she doesn't need to tell you where she is every minute of the day."

Clopin whirled around long enough to throw him a thunderous glare then ran off.

~*0*~

Taking a break from watching TV during a lull in games of interest, Mattie jogged around Saint Joseph's Lake; her mind was a jumbled mix of emotions.

She was beginning to have feelings for Quasi but he seemed to only be interested in Esma.

Nearing Duck Island, she was so preoccupied that she didn't hear the bushes rustle until a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks, making her blood run cold.

"Hi there, Mattie."

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Touchy, touchy," Sarousch smiled broadly, "I was just going for a walk."

Mattie shuddered, putting a hand on her chest to settle her pounding heart; she was sure that he could hear it.

"You know, you've been ignoring me," he went on, taking a step closer.

She hesitated for a moment, not sure what to say and not trusting herself to speak. She too took a step back.

"I don't like being ignored," he warned, "Tell me what you've been doing lately?"

"Why?" she answered harshly, shivers running up her arms.

"I just wanted to say that you're still not in the clear," he, answered, smiling patronizingly, "You may think that your little problem is fixed, and, most likely, that's why you're avoiding me, but, let me assure you, _I am_ the only ticket that you have out of your mess."

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Mattie moaned, her hands clasping her pale face, "We got rid of it!"

"That doesn't matter," Sarousch said softly, curiosity made his heart sore; he almost had the information that he needed, "Only I matter." He smiled condescendingly, "And I'll be making the decision about whether to tell President Frollo or not soon, so bring your case before me…"

Mattie's lips began to tremble; she wanted to run but was rooted to the spot. Her voice was desperate, "When?"

"Come over to my dorm room tonight and we'll discuss what you need to do."

~*0*~

Archie Deacon slumped back in his office chair, completely deflated. After a telephone lecture from President Frollo, he suddenly felt ready for retirement.

Wasn't it enough that the staff and administration was being pushed to their extreme limits to enact the new president's stringent educational reforms? Now he wanted to cancel the school's most prestigious athletic program too.

Not on my watch, Archie thought, shaking his head resolutely and balling his fists.

Doesn't Frollo know that football actually helps the students excel in their academics? Doesn't he know that football brings in a ton of money that is, in turn, used to fund the school's many academic and charitable pursuits?

Beside, what could I do? I'm an old guidance councilor. Canceling a season or not is the NCAA's business.

"Got a minute?" A voice startled him out of his private thoughts.

"For you, Victor Goyle?" Archie replied, lunging to his feet and holding out a hand, "Anytime—as long as I'm not busy."

Both men laughed and Victor returned the handshake with a hearty grip.

"You guys have a special student or two this year?" Archie asked, by way of opening the discussion.

"Oh, course, of course, always," Victor nodded, "You know that the Goyles are always watching over Notre Dame."

"I do know, I do," Archie said, nodding appreciatively, "How are Hugo and Laverne?"

"Hugo is the same wisecracking idiot that everyone loves and Laverne is as hard-charging as ever." Victor replied, smiling broadly before getting down to business, "But, as much as I love my brother and sister, I didn't come to talk about them."

"Of course not, of course not," Archie waved his hand, "What's on your mind, Victor?"

"Football," he stated, "We've got a good team this year, don't we?"

"Yes, we do," Archie nodded, inwardly groaning. He'd had enough football talk for a while. Then his pulse quickened; could Frollo have pushed his old friend into being his stooge? No, Victor wouldn't do that. Archie tried hard to listen without revealing his private thoughts.

"But we've heard of problems too?" Victor asked, gently propping his friend's reaction.

"Ye-s," Archie answered cautiously, not quite sure where this was going, "I'm sure everyone in the States knows about our scandals by now."

"Well," Victor said, pressing forward, "The three of us talked about it last night, and we'd like to help."

"What can you guys do?" Archie asked, leaning forward, perplexed and cynical. He doubted that the elderly siblings could oppose President Frollo.

"Well, for starters, we could just talk to the kids—get them back on track, you might say," Victor said, "I assume that the guys caught up in this latest scandal are sitting on the bench and that's hard." He shrugged, trying to look innocent, "And maybe we could glean some useful information about what's going on…"

"Well," Archie said, hesitating again, "It sounds like a good idea, Victor; I'd certainly like to know more—but it isn't really up my alley to ask. Why don't you talk to the coach?" Archie asked.

Victor shrugged, "We were hoping that you would. As well as we're known around the school, I think that a faculty member would have a better shot with him."

Archie nodded, understanding, "Well, alright, I'll see what I can do."

* * *

When Mattie missed dinner on Saturday evening and didn't pick up her numerous phone calls, Esma paced their dorm room with listless angst. Finally, after hours of waiting, the door opened a tiny crack and Mattie's golden head poked through.

"Well, I know you weren't out celebrating a Notre Dame victory," Esma commented with sarcastic crossness.

Mattie shrank back under her friend's withering glare, almost disappearing back into the hallway. But, after a moment, she flung the door open and walked in with a airy wave of her hand, nonchalantly saying, "Sorry."

" _That's not good enough_!" Esma snapped.

" _Why not_?" Mattie fired back, "You're not my mother!"

"No, I'm something _worse_ ," Esma retorted, "I'm your friend!" She took a deep breath to calm herself, "You know our team eats together on weekends—and we always call ahead if we can't make it." She balled her fists in frustration, "You did neither, Mattie! And, what's more, I've called you about fifteen times since we left the restaurant and you didn't pick up then either."

Mattie shank back again, pressing her lips together; she looked down at the floor.

" _What's wrong with you_?" Esma demanded.

After a prolonged silence, Mattie looked up with a guilty expression, "Sarousch invited me to his room—and I went."

Esma gasped in shock.

"I didn't go in!" Mattie insisted, "We ended up accidently meeting in front of his dormitory and I-I came to my senses; we had a good ole fight too." She shook her head, "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Whatever made you want to go there in the first place?" Esma pleaded to know.

"He said he needed help with his homework," Mattie answered, carefully withholding the real reason that she'd gone to his room; she already assumed that her fight with Sarousch would doom their chances of staying inrolled, but she still couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Esma snorted, rolling her eyes; she didn't believe that for a moment,, "the oldest, lamest excuse in the book!" She snapped, " _Come on, Mattie_! I know that you know better!"

She continued, "The only "homework" Sarouch could have been interested in is Human Anatomy—and, he's not smart enough to take the prerequisites for that class!"

She gave her friend a withering look, "So what _really_ happened?"

"Um, uh, ah," Mattie stumbled for words.

"Come on, Mattie, _spill it_!"

"He knows about Djali," she finally admitted, dropping onto her bed as if her legs had been kicked out from under her.

Esma tensed, inhaling sharply. But she recovered quickly and nonchalantly flip her hair off her shoulder, "So what, Djali is with the Goyles. They didn't catch us when we had him in our room."

"Yeah, but Sarousch said he could still make trouble for us."

Esma sighed, doubting that was true, but not completely sure, "Well, we'll watch him then." she said, "You and I—we'll watch him and Gudule together."

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Please don't complain about the Football Religion references. I don't actually believe that football is a religion. It was a joke. But I know some people get touchy about it. College (and professional) football fans will understand.


	8. Game 5 vs Miami (FL)

"So, can we carpool to Chicago for the game, Mattie?" Pierre asked, late Friday afternoon as they hurried to meet their friends for dinner, "My car is in the shop."

"Oh, sorry for you," she teased, giving him an exaggerated pout and pausing long enough to make him do a double take.

Aw, come on, Mattie!"

"Of course, we can car pool, you dummy," she affirmed, grinning.

"Thanks," he said, throwing her a lopsided smile, "You know, you had to going there for a minute."

She smiled sweetly, "Good."

"So, what do you think our chances are tomorrow?" he continued.

"We'll win," she answered, without hesitation.

"You think?" he pressed, "After a crazy bye-week and without six of our best players?"

"Those kids from Miami will freeze in Chicago," she asserted confidently, "They're used to lying out on the beach."

"That's probably true," he replied, smirking, "I hear they're good at getting in trouble too."

" _Ugh_ , don't talk about trouble."

"Yeah, sorry, I guess it does strike close to home, doesn't it?" he sighed, shaking his head, "I just don't understand any of this."

"Me neither."

"Do you know what _I_ don't understand?" Sarousch asked, suddenly stepping from behind a tree to block their path, "I don't understand why Mattie is having dinner with _you_ and not _me_."

"I don't care if you understand that or not," Pierre growled, stepping protectively in front of his friend.

"Buzz off, Pierre," Sarousch answered, with calm coldness, "Mattie and I have…unfinished business…to attend too."

"You finished any business with her in Lansing," Pierre held his ground.

Sarousch frowned, "Stay out of this, string bean."

"Oh, I'm hurt, I'm hurt," Pierre howled, grabbing his sides and then his arms and head before cracking up, "Really, Sarousch? _String bean_? Is that all you've got on me? Man, I haven't heard that once since elementary school. Way to go, buddy—oh, by the way, look in the mirror while you're at it— _string bean_."

After a pause, he snapped, "What do you want, Sarousch?"

"Simply to have dinner with my friend." Sarousch said, sighing as if he was tired of the whole argument..

"Forget it!"

"No! We have things to discuss."

"Then say it _right here_ —in front of me."

"We have things to discuss _privately_."

"Like I said, you lost that opportunity a few weeks ago."

"Mattie, don't you want to have dinner with me?" Sarousch tried a new tactic, giving her a meaningful look.

"Um, uh," she gulped, "I guess I'd better go with him." She paused to stare at Pierre, silently pleading with him to understand

" _What_!" Pierre snapped, involuntarily clinching his fists, "There's no way that you're—"

"Doesn't be a sore loser, Pierre," Sarousch admonished condescendingly. He took hold of Mattie's elbow and started pulling her away; she was too stunned to respond.

" _I said no_!" Pierre cried, bolting forward to catch her other elbow, he braced himself for a tug-of-war.

" _Pierre, stop_ ," Mattie cried, trying to break his grip by jerking her elbow around, "It's alright!"

" _No, Mattie_!"

" _Please_!"

" _No_!

"You know, I have to back Pierre on this one," Phoebus's calm voice interrupted their argument.

With two quick steps, he punched Sarousch solidly in the stomach and sent him sprawling to the ground in a heap, "Really, Sarousch, I thought that our little chat in Lansing would have sufficed to teach you not to mess with my friends." Turning to the others, he added, "Let's get out of here."

" _Mattie! What happened_?" Esma gasped, running up as the trio crossed the street in front of the campus restaurant, Legend's of Norte Dame.

"I'm alright, Esma," Mattie tried to reassure her.

"But, _what happened_?" Esma insisted, eying the bruises on her roommate's elbows.

"Sarousch and I had an argument about who she was going to have dinner with," Pierre volunteered darkly, blushing because he too was responsible for some of her injuries.

" _What_?" Esma gasped.

"That scoundrel!" Victor was astounded, instinctively clenching his fists.

"Let me at him!" Hugo growled, "Let me at him!"

"Then Phoebus came along and settled the matter." Pierre finished, grinning, "In my favor, of course."

"Well, I should think so," Laverne muttered.

Phoebus shrugged, "In my humble opinion Pierre is a much better date."

"Humble?" Esma joked, "You, mister I'm named after a sun-god, has a _humble_ opinion?"

"Well…yeah," Phoebus said gingerly, making everyone laugh.

"Are you sure that you're alright, dear?" Laverne asked, taking Mattie by the hand and scrutinizing her with grandmotherly eyes, "These kinds of things…"

"I'm fine," Mattie insisted, pulling back, "It's fine. I'm fine."

"It is not _fine_ , my dear," Victor argued, wrapping a burly arm around her shoulders, "No man should _ever_ —"

"Please—" Mattie interrupted, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Come on, Victor," Laverne said understanding Mattie's need for space; she pulled her brother's arm off the girl, "She'll talk when she's ready; let's go eat."

* * *

After the meal, the amateur sleuths settled back to discuss the game.

"The Miami Hurricanes?" Hugo cracked, "Well, if I know anything about meteorology, a hurricane forms over warm water—that's why they're coming from Florida—then they lose strength over land." He slammed his fist down hard on the table, "I predict that they'll be _nothing_ by the time they get to Chicago!"

"Here, here!" Pierre, Phoebus, Quasi, and Victor all pumped their fists.

"Alright, alright," Laverne said, laughing and clapping, "Settle down, you boys, and let's talk business because this old lady has a bedtime. I assume that everyone will be going over, but does everyone have a ride?"

"Since when do you have a bedtime?" Hugo muttered rhetorically.

"Can I ride with you again?" Quasi asked.

"Of course, of course," Laverne replied, "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh, just checking, that's all."

"I bet that Quasi has a hot date that he'd rather ride with, eh Quasi?" Hugo said, bumping him in the ribs.

"Well, no, not exactly," Quasi mumbled, beginning to look flustered.

"Oh, come on, you don't need to be shy around us," Hugo grinned, "You're our friend."

"No really—"

"Is she hot?"

" _Hugo!"_ Victor and Laverne chastised sharply.

"Alright, alright," Hugo consented, "Does anyone else need a ride?"

"Finally, he asks something pertinent," Victor muttered in his sister's ear; she crackled in response.

"Mattie agreed to take me up," Pierre volunteered, "My car is in the shop."

"And we, of course, have rides," Clopin said.

"On a bus," Esma sighed.

"Sitting next to each other," Clopin reminded her. Slinging his arm around her, he drew frowns from Phoebus and Quasi.

"Then that's cleared up," Victor said, "So, what's our strategy? How about trying something proactive this week or do we continue waiting to see if something bad happens and then go home with our tales between our legs in the hope that it gets cleaned up while we sit and watch our great football team get dragged through the mud?"

"That's kind of bleak, old man," Phoebus said, "but basically true." After pausing to mull over their options, he asked, "What can we do that's proactive?"

"Nothing," Hugo muttered.

"It's true," Laverne sighed, "Particularly during away or neutral site games, like this one. There's nothing to do but wait and see."

"Other than the first game," Esma reminded them, meeting Phoebus' eyes and smiling, "Phoebus and I stopped that one."

Clopin and Quasi frowned at the attention that she showed the ROTC Captain.

"Yeah, too bad we still don't know who did it."

"People, people, chin up," Phoebus said, as he watched their dejected expressions, "Are we only made of stone or something stronger? Cheer up! The tide will turn eventually; _it has too_!"

Suddenly, Mattie, whose heart started pounding at the mention of Sarousch's first misdeed, asked lightly, to deflect attention towards another topic, "So what, Captain Phoebus, do you think this is some kind of Disney movie where all the bad guys get caught?"

* * *

Frollo irritably drummed his fingers on his hotel's nightstand and quickly switched off the TV. Would ESPN ever shut up about how great the Fighting Irish were this year? Could they honestly laud the team's accomplishments almost nonstop for hours on end? Didn't these men have more important things to do?

"Well, no matter," he said softly, switching gears in his mind with remarkable speed, "We won't keeping winning with our best players suspended for six weeks."

Satisfied with how things were going, he allowed his mind to drift to the other thing that kept him up at night: that beautiful cheerleader. For a man who'd dedicated his life to education, he was unsettled and angered by how easily she'd taken over his mind.

"She's as dangerous as the sirens that Ulysses faced," he muttered dangerously, using the Romanized name for the hero of Homer's Odyssey. Then he moaned miserably and sank down into his bed as if he was ill, "And I've fallen for her song."

But, just as the dark clouds of his imagination began to swirl like a tornado, his phone rang.

"Hey, boss, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in Chicago bright and early tomorrow to get ready for the game!" Sarousch replied buoyantly to Frollo's gruff greeting. After a pause, he added, "I also wanted to remind you that you haven't told me what we're doing to sabotage the game this week."

"I do _not_ need to be reminded, you insolent little worm," Frollo snapped, "We're not doing anything this week."

" _We're not_?"

"I see no need too," Frollo replied dismissively, unconsciously waving his hand as if talking to his intern was a bother, "With six of their best players suspended, I'd be willing to bet that they'll lose soon enough. Then the national media will go away and I can dismiss the coach and disband the team at my own leisure."

Silence greeted him on other end of the line so, after a minute, he continued, "In fact, I bet that we'll lose big to Miami."

"Are you serious?" Sarousch asked, opportunistic about making a quick buck; gambling was his weak spot.

" _No_!" Frollo snapped, his easily triggered temper flaring.

"But, can't I do something?" Sarousch whined, "I'm too valuable to waste, boss."

"Alright, fine," Frollo gritting his teeth, suddenly disappointed that he couldn't just beat the arrogant little pest to a bloody pulp then and there, "I actually do have something for you to do."

" _Really_?"

"I want you to find out the name of the—" Frollo stopped, suddenly unwilling to reveal that he had a crush on a girl who could be his granddaughter.

"You want me to find out who the pretty cheerleader is?" Sarousch guessed, priding himself on keeping one step ahead of his boss.

"Y-yes," Frollo said, gritting his teeth again; he hated the fact that Sarousch could so easily stay a step ahead.

"No problem, boss," Sarousch was smug, "I already know it. Her name is Esmeralda."

For once, Frollo was speechless.

* * *

"So, who's going to win today, whose going to win today?" Hugo chanted, pumping his fists several times

as he, his siblings, and Quasi found their seats, "Go Irish." Even the hooting Miami fans didn't faze him.

"Does anyone know why the game is here?" Victor asked, ignoring his brother and tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth, "instead of at Notre Dame or in Miami?"

"Nope," Hugo admitted, scowling deeply, "But I would've loved to celebrate our win on their beach!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Hugo," Laverne said, giving him a funny look, "We're so old that we'd crumble if we stood out in the sun for too long."

"Speak for yourself, sister," he retorted, "My architecture is strong enough to stand for centuries!"

"What a bunch of baloney," Victor muttered, downing more popcorn, "With your gut?"

"What was that?" Hugo snapped.

"You know very well what I—" Victor retorted, frowning at him.

"I'm really glad that you guys always let me sit with you at the games," Quasi interrupted, growing tired of their bickering, "but you still don't have too, you know?"

"Parish the thought, Quasi!" Laverne admonished immediately, "We love having you along."

"Yes," Victor agreed, glancing sharply at Hugo, "Who'd keep us sane all day if you weren't here?"

"Unless, you don't want to sit with us," Hugo added, reminding them of his jests the night before.

Quasi laughed, despite himself, then everyone quieted down as both marching bands played their respective fight songs. Then the two teams bursts out of the long tunnels and the crowd rose in one huge roar of excitement.

* * *

By halftime the score was ridiculously out of hand and, in an effort to control his growing wrath in front of the many reporters who begged for a comment about the team, Frollo decided to see if he could get better acquainted with Esmeralda. Hurrying down to the field, he strolled up to the cheerleaders just as they were returning to the sideline after their halftime routine.

"Excuse me," he said softly, as he came up behind her, "But I need to talk with you, Miss…Esmeralda."

Esma whirled around in surprise, having been preoccupied with thoughts of how lucky she was that she hadn't seen Gudule; she blushed, feeling indecently sweaty before the president of her university. "Now, sir? But the game…halftime isn't over."

"It's a matter of some importance," he insisted gently, almost licking his lips. Gesturing for her to follow him, he found himself imagining that her sweat droplets were little sparkling crystals.

Esma hesitated again as goose bumps crawled up and down her arms. The look in his eyes gave her the creeps! But he was Notre Dame's president. Should she obey his authority or her instincts?

"It's a matter concerning your eligibility, Miss Esmeralda," he said impatiently, seeing her hesitation. He gestured more forceful, "If you could please follow me."

 _My eligibility_? she thought, suddenly finding him to be completely untrustworthy. "Sir, I have straight A's," she said, with more calmness than she felt, "There's no way that I'm not academically eligible to cheer. You must be mistaken."

"I am not—" he started to retort, angered that she was disagreeing with him.

"President Frollo!" her coach suddenly materialize, like a miracle, "How nice of you to come down to meet the team!" She pumped his hand vigorously, speaking in bubbly voice, "Come on, We'd love to have a picture of you with us."

"Oh…," Frollo instinctively recoiled from the excited woman; this was not going according to his plan. Glancing swiftly at Esma, with eyes that cut through her like daggers, he said curtly, " _Next week_ , Miss Esmeralda. Make an appointment to see me when you get back to school."

Then he turned on his heels and strode over to where the squad was lining up for their photo shoot, leaving Esma trailing behind at a safe distance. Behind his back, she muttered, "Yes, sir."

* * *

"Whoa! A huge lead!" Pierre enthused, as he, Mattie and Phoebus shared two-handed hi-fives as the fourth quarter got underway, " _Go Irish_!"

"They're not hurricanes today," Phoebus crackled with pleasure, "The weatherman got the forecast totally wrong!"

"Oh well," Mattie grinned, "Too bad." Then she added, "Mr. Ringling has a home in Florida so I know about the value of dodging a hurricane."

"Well, I'm certainly not complaining," Pierre said, with a sigh, "Not with so many of our best players suspended."

"Ha!" Phoebus pumped his fist when Notre Dame broke through the Miami line for another first down, "I think that we could win this one even if our third string had both hands tied behind their backs."

"Mattie gave him a sly look, "Careful Phoebus, this is football, not soccer—as in you have to throw the ball sometimes."

"True," Phoebus acknowledged, "Oh, well, so we'd beat these oversized windbags with _one_ hand tied behind our backs!"

"Well, that's better," Mattie consented, clapping enthusiastically when Notre Dame picked up a diving first down, "Go I—"

As if lightening had struck, her words died on her lips when she noticed Sarousch staring at her from a few rows down.

"What give, Matt?" Pierre asked, quizzically, confused by her sudden horror-stricken expression. He followed her gave, then bumped Phoebus' ribs, "There's that sick jerk, bro—let's get him."

"And finish what the cops wouldn't let us do in Lansing," Phoebus agreed, his eyes blazing with anger as he jumped up.

"And what we didn't do ourselves last night," Pierre reminded him.

"I regret that now," Phoebus growled.

"No, no, no!" Mattie squeaked, quickly grabbing their arms, "You guys are _not_ allowed to get stuck in an out-of-town jail cell again this weekend. No, I won't allow it. I won't!"

"Relax, Mattie," Phoebus threw her a disarming smile, "All we want to do is wipe that condensing little smirk off his mouth."

" _No_!" she snapped, stomping to her foot, " _I said no!"_

"Why not?" Pierre asked, gently freeing himself from her grasp when, in her panic, she began to dig into his flesh, "I don't think he understands how to treat girls. Don't you think—"

" _No_!"

"But Mattie," Phoebus argued, "That's the most basic most mandatory lesson a guy needs to learn. Don't you want him to know—"

"I'll scream if either of you lay so much as a fingernail on him," Mattie hissed in his ear, "Sit down and enjoy this game with me. _Both of you_!" She shoved them back into their seats then resettled between them with a smug smile on her face.

"O-kay," they mumbled, surprised. But, catching each other's attention over her head, they made a silent pact to get even with the intern later.

* * *

"I don't know, I just don't know!" Esma cried, growing increasingly agitated under the barrage of questions that her friends threw at her about Frollo's appearance as they celebrated Notre Dame's 41-3 victory at a Chicago Pizzeria, "How the heck should I know why President Frollo thinks that I'm not eligible to cheer? I make straight As, for heaven's sake! I mean, is there some other requirement that I don't know about?"

Everyone readily promised to help her get to the bottom of this predicament in any way they could, but then Clopin spoke acidly, "I think Frollo has been smoking something."

"Maybe, Esma—" Quasi began, trying to see the problem from Frollo's side.

"Maybe, nothing," Clopin snapped angrily, "He has no reason! Absolutely no reason! He's just doing this because, because, because…" At a loss for words, he slammed his Coke down onto the table, sloshing it all over everyone. He swore then apologized.

"I'm just saying," Quasi said, as he frowned at his coke-speckled shirt, "He's the president of the school, so he must have a good reason."

"That's a bunch of bull," Phoebus said, "I agree with Clopin on this one."

"Wow, that's a first," Esma chuckled.

"Oh, you would," Quasi frowned, eyeing Phoebus.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Boys, boys," Laverne cut in, "Are you two done yet?"

"Yes," they grumbled together, not wanting to run afoul of her.

"Good," Victor said hurriedly , "We want today and how it effects our next move."

"What do you mean?" Quasi asked, "Nothing happened today."

"That's good, isn't it?" Pierre pointed out.

"Something is bound to happen again," Phoebus reminded them, nodding approval for Victor's proactive approach, "We need to be ready." He paused for a moment, then added, "I, for one, like Victor's proactive approach idea."

"Okay, but how do we go about that? Laverne asked.

"You got me," Hugo answered, with stringy cheese stuck between his teeth, "I wonder why it was quiet today?"

"Maybe Miami was too cold cheat," Pierre volunteered, providing a reason for everyone to laugh, "And, and…well, maybe whoever is hurting us was hoping that our depleted ranks would do us in."

"I hope they continue to think that," Mattie whispered, thinking about Sarousch and all the trouble that she had helped him cause.

"Well, at any rate," Pierre said, "Let's try to come up with a more proactive plan by next weeked."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : I know that I haven't updated this one in months, but I kind of lost my groove for a while. Hopefully, I can get back into it now that college football is about to start. I've been having fun writing in other genres though! Also, can I beg forgiveness from any readers who are Miami fans? The story demanded that I slam your team because they were the opponent in this chapter.


	9. Game 6 vs Sanford

"Hey Phoebus?" Pierre called, catching up to him, "Do you know the story of how intercollegiate football games got started?"

Phoebus scowled in annoyance, "No, I can honestly say that I've never heard that one."

"It's interesting," Pierre continued, ignoring the irritation in his friend's voice, "It might take your mind off your troubles."

"What troubles?"

"Oh, come on, Phoebus—your tone, your body language; they _reek_ of having a bad day."

"Come on," he continued, "It's a story about George Washington memorabilia."

"Oh, really?" Phoebus was skeptical, "Don't tell me that somebody sold it for perks."

Ironically, you're close, bit no."

"What's old is new again."

"Almost—say, where's Esma?" Pierre suddenly changed the subject.

Phoebus rolled his eyes sullenly; whatever interest he'd had in Pierre's story vanished in an instant, "She had other plans."

Ahh…oh, I see. So that's what it is. You _do_ need a good story then."

"Alright, fine, ole buddy, ole pal," Phoebus rolled his eyes again, as they came to the door of the campus restaurant, Recker's, "You win. Lay it on me. Let's eat."

"Well, see, back in the 1860's, just after the Civil War," Pierre began, as they settled into lunch, "Princeton, somehow or another, had a cannonball that Washington purportedly once fired and they liked to talk about it an awful lot."

"Sounds natural."

"I guess so but their neighbors down the road at Rutgers didn't take kindly to all the bragging so they'd periodically come over and steal it—just for kicks, you know."

"Oh, course."

"Well, the guys at Princeton would always go down and steal it right back and no harm no foul was the rule. But in 1869, Rutgers not only _stole_ the cannonball, they decided to bury it under six feet of concert!"

"Oops," Phoebus' mouth curled into a sadistic smile "And when Princeton came to reclaim their property—"

"Yep, it was six feet under," Pierre grinned, "All Princeton could do was challenge the thieves to a football game…but it was more like a brawl because there were twenty-five guys on each team and basically no rules."

"Sounds fun," Phoebus grinned, "Who won?"

"Rutgers 6-4."

" _Dang_."

"Yeah, I know, they got the cannonball _and_ the win."

"So, why did you tell me a story with a bad ending? How's that supposed to cheer me up?"

"Oh, look at the time…" Pierre started to get up.

"Sit down and finish your lunch!" Phoebus snapped, "Let's talk about _tomorrow's_ game."

"What about it?" Pierre was cautious.

"Who's going to win?"

"Us, of course."

"Now, that's a better ending."

"I agree—our poor team needs it."

"Yeah, it's been a crazy week."

*~0~*

"Thanks for coming, Mattie," Esma whispered, as the girls took lunch across town with Quasi, "He is my friend and all, but I just don't have _those_ kind of feeling for him."

"No problem," Mattie sighed, carefully hiding her growing interest in their friend, "Why'd you agree to come anyway? If you know that he likes you like _that_ , isn't it sending mixed messages to come?"

"I just don't know how to break it to him," Esma admitted, shrugging helplessly, "Especially since I want to stay friends."

"It is weird," Mattie agreed.

"Maybe we could steer him towards someone else," Esma suggested, looking a little guilty, "Like a blind date…do you know anyone who we could set him up with?"

"I don't much like that idea." Mattie shook her head fervently, feeling queasy, "I-I think that together we can just keep the conversation light and feel our way from there."

Esma winced, "Yeah, I'm sure you're right. It might be terrible to set him up with someone who doesn't know him from rock on the lawn."

"We could really hurt his feelings,"

"Here you go," Quasi interrupted, setting two trays on the table.

"Ouch, this stuff is hot!" Mattie gasped, taking a sip of her apple cider.

"But good," Esma added, savoring her cocoa even though it burned her tongue, "I love chilly days because I can bundle up and drink my cocoa!"

"Bundling up with good food and a great ballgame," Mattie sighed, " _Perfect_."

"Speaking of ballgames," Quasi said, delighted by their happiness, "With so many suspensions, what do you think of our chances against Sanford tomorrow?"

"I think we have a shot," Mattie said, forcing optimism, "but _only_ if we don't get big heads."

"You don't think that we'd get big heads, do you?" he asked, amazed, "with so many of our best guys out?"

"I wouldn't put it past us." Esma grumbled, "An undefeated record has a way of going to guys' heads, even if they're second or third stringers…" She rolled her eyes, " _Boys_."

"Yeah," Mattie agreed, "and it can be even worse with younger guys."

"Agreed!" Esma nodded, warming up to the rant, "Sometimes they try to be heroes in a tight spot and end up blowing it."

"I just hope that, _if_ we do go down; we can shake it off," Mattie added, shaking her head, "I don't want to end up like the poor Vols."

"The who?" Quasi asked.

"The Tennessee Volunteers," Mattie explained, "Sorry, guys, Being from Florida, I've heard every Vol joke in the book. They used to be pretty darn good—it's Payton Manning's alma mater, after all—but, they've tanked in recent years." Sighing, she continued "They do fine while they're winning, but if they lose even _one_ game, you can pretty much count on them losing the next week and the next, and the next."

"It's sad, actually." she finished, "It's a nice school and a nice program."

""That _is_ sad," Quasi sympathized.

"A lot of people in Florida and Georgia would call it pathetic," Mattie said, suddenly snickering.

"That's mean," Quasi frowned.

"That's _rivalry_." Mattie corrected, "The SEC."

"Isn't Alabama in the SEC?" Esma asked, worry flickering in her eyes.

"Yeah, the big bad red tide," Mattie confirmed, rolling her eyes.

"They're called the _Red Tide_?" Quasi asked, amazed, "What do they use for a mascot!"

"Well, _technically_ , they're the _Crimson_ Tide," Mattie replied, putting on faux airs, "but, heck, they kill just about every team they touch, so _Red_ Tide is appropriate." She made a weird face, "Their mascot, "Big Al, is an elephant, but I don't remember the story behind it."

"Aren't they currently undefeated?" Esma asked.

"Hmm, I believe so…but I'd have to check—probably."

"So, _if_ we make it to the championship, we might have to play them?"

" _If_ we make it," Mattie emphasized, "but let's not get ahead of ourselves. We have too many troubles to even begin to think _that_!"

"We sure do!"

"Say, why don't you sit with me tomorrow?" Mattie asked Quasi, changing of subject with a quick smile at Esma, "Mr. Ringling paid for me to have excellent seats right up front. We can scout for trouble together."

"Oh," he answered, blushing, "I always sit with the Goyles. They'd probably miss me."

"Well, I'd really like a pair of fresh eyes," Mattie pressed, "Something big might happen because we're shorthanded. This could be the perfect opportunity for whoever is behind all this."

"Do it, Quasi!" Esma encouraged, delighted by Mattie's proposal.

"Oh, well, okay," he agreed, wanting to please his crush, "But let me call the Goyles first."

* * *

"I feel really horrible about this," Hugo whispered, glancing at his glow-in-the-dark watch, "Imagine _us_ breaking in to Notre Dame?"

"Nice try, brother," Laverne crackled softly, smacking his shoulder, "We all know that you're getting the biggest kick out of it."

"Well, alright, fine, you caught me."

"Have either of you considered what happens if we actually _do_ get caught?" she continued.

"I try not to think about that," Victor shuddered, already feeling guilty about dragging his siblings into this scheme, "I almost wish that Archie hadn't called—but man, if he is right, then the football scandal…" He sighed, "I'm just glad the ole boy knows how to turn off the alarm."

"I'm glad he told us," Laverne countered, "We're the guardians of Notre Dame, after all."

"I'll plead the fifth if we get caught," Hugo volunteered.

"You'll just beg to not be sent to jail!" Laverne crackled, "Maybe the guards will protest and they'll let you off."

"You'd beg too—on your hands and knees."

"I wouldn't be able to get up if I did that."

"Is your arthritis acting up again?"

"I'm stiff as a stone in the morning."

"Can you run if someone comes?"

"Of course not, but maybe if I open my mouth and give them a scary look _they'll_ run."

"More like pass out from your bad breath."

"Alright, you two, pipe down," Victor growled, "Man, if I'd known that you'd talk this much—"

"Now, who's talking?" Hugo interrupted, earning himself a glare.

"What are we looking for exactly?" he continued, as they filed into the Frollo's office.

"You'll know when you see it," Victor replied, "Archie said that Frollo has been obsessing about the NCAA's lack of action all week, complaining like a crazy man that they aren't moving fast enough or harshly enough to punish the team." He smiled ironically, "I know the ole boy doesn't want to let wrongdoers off the hook, but he said Frollo was going overboard."

"And earlier this week," he added, "he said that he went to the president's office for a meeting and caught him on the phone, talking about the team. He said he wasn't talking to the NCAA and he thought that the whole conversation sounded inappropriate." Victor shrugged, "He said he'd tell us more after the game."

"So, why didn't you tell _us_ about this phone call before?" Laverne asked, hands on her hips, "Is there some big secret?"

"No, he just didn't offer many details—I thought—well, I thought, I'd—well, I don't know. I just didn't, I guess."

"Makes sense to me," Hugo said, his eyes already sweeping the room, "Let's get to work."

"Everything makes sense to you," Laverne muttered.

Searching by flashlight, they quietly went through drawers, files cabinets, and loose papers, sliding things of interest into a black briefcase. Then suddenly the lights came on.

Gudule stood frozen in the doorway, her cleaning supplies in hand. She'd had a bad day and had been looking forward to the quiet solitude of her nightly rounds but, as usual, things hadn't gone her way.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped harshly, wondering if she could get them in trouble.

"Relax, sister," Hugo answered in that slightly sarcastic tone that only he could get away with, "President Frollo asked us to help him with a project."

"We're almost done," Laverne added sweetly, as she studied the janitor, "Why don't we just step outside while my brothers finish up. You look like you've had a tough day."

"What's that to you?" Gudule snapped.

"Come on," Laverne took her arm, "You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want too, but I've been around a little while and I know that burdens get lighter when they're shared."

I've been around too, Gudule thought, begrudgingly following the older woman back into the foyer, and I know that no one cares about me.

With only the dull emergency lights to see by, Laverne appraised the woman and was shocked to realize that she looked just like Esma. Why hadn't she noticed before?

Gudule scowled, "What are you gawking at? I know I ain't much to look at."

"Oh, but you're beautiful!" Laverne insisted.

" _Bull_! Don't lie to me," Gudule shot back, "Maybe I _was_ , but that was a long time ago." She scowled menacingly, as if to scare away her painful past before it could resurface.

"Now just hold on a minute," Laverne retorted sternly, "I wasn't born yesterday and I don't lie." Before she knew what she was doing, she added, "And the funny thing is, I know a student here who looks _exactly_ like you—right down to that gold gator that you've got around your neck, although hers is a miniature."

Gudule's eyes widen, thunderstruck. It couldn't be true! Then Frollo's door opened.

"Alright, we're done, sis." Victor said, looking relieved to not see the police.

She nodded, then took Gudule's hand and squeezed it, "See you later, sister; I sure hope that tonight goes better than today."

* * *

Gudule paced near to the stadium, hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl who Laverne had mentioned as the fans streamed into the stadium. She hadn't slept well, intermittingly thinking about all that she'd done to that girl and desperately telling herself that she wasn't the one.

The amulet, the thought hit her brain like a jackhammer, the amulet. It couldn't be! Then again, one look would tell all.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she muttered, suddenly spying Esma amidst a group of cheerleaders.

"Excuse me?" she asked timidly.

"Hey!" Clopin barked angrily, recognizing her, "You're that witch who—!"

" _Clopin_ , that's not necessary." Esma cut him off sharply, giving Gudule a guarded look; unconsciously gripping for her amulet, even though cheerleading rules forbade her to wear it during games.

Seeing no amulet around the girl's neck, Gudule jerked back, "Never mind, I thought that you were someone else." She whirled around and hurried away.

"That was weird," Esma muttered, not believing that the old lady would mistake her for someone else.

"Don't worry about it," Clopin said, wrapping a protective arm around her.

"I'm not," she answered, pushing him away.

* * *

Frollo may have been furious to discover that his office had been broken into, but it was nothing compared to how he'd felt ever since Jehan had called earlier in the week to make a wager on the game. And, worst of all, that meddling guidance councilor had heard part of the conversation! He was just glad that Archie was a weak man who knew his place and wouldn't interfere.

"Ho, ho," the he chuckled optimistically, feeling that God's hand was on Sanford, "Notre Dame isn't so great after all, are they? Overtime!"

"You know the media won't go away after just one loss, don't you?" Sarousch said, assuming that his boss was just obsessing about the national hype that the team was increasingly receiving.

"Yes, but they won't sing their praises so loudly," Frollo reminded him, reverting back to his intern line of thought since they boy knew nothing about the wager, "and with a few _more_ losses, which I'm sure that I can arrange, the press will be gone in less than a month."

"Vol syndrome, eh? Sarousch asked, remembering that Mattie sometimes talked about it.

" _What_?"

"Vol syn—oh, never mind."

"Don't mumble, boy—this world has no room for mumbling."

"I only meant that you shouldn't count your chickens before they hatch."

"Whose side are you on?"

"Yours, of course."

"You don't act like it," Frollo answered sharply, then suddenly switched tactics, sighing loudly, "I'm sorry, my boy, how can I expect you to understand? But, listen, once the team starts losing games, I'll be ready with falsified grades and claim that football is hurting them academically. Notre Dame is a proud school; they won't stand for that."

"That seems like a stretch…"

"Excuse me?"

Sarousch shrugged, unfazed by Frollo's death stare, "It just seems like a stretch but, hey, I only call it like I see it."

"Then you need glasses!"

*~0~*

"Oh, I can't watch!" Mattie squeaked, covering her eyes then peering through the cracks in her fingers, "But I can't miss it either! Can you believe this? The first _overtime_ of the season!"

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Quasi enthused, clapping as Esma waved her pompoms at the crowd; he imagined that she was waving at him, "These seats are _amazing_!"

"They are, aren't they?" Pierre grinned despite his annoyance that Mattie had invited their friend.

"Luck of the draw," Mattie answered, elbowing Pierre when she recognized his tone, "Hey, Quasi, have you seen anything suspicious?"

"No," he answered, reluctantly taking his eyes off his crush, "I hope we didn't miss anything. The game has been so exciting!"

"It sure has! Maybe whoever is sabotaging us is waiting to see how they'll do shorthanded." Pierre offered.

"I just don't understand why anyone _would_ sabotage us," Mattie grumbled.

"Maybe they were absent on school spirit day in kindergarten," Quasi joked.

He was surprised that it made him feel good to hear her laugh.

~*0*~

" _Holy cow_!" Clopin whooped, "Overtime! Our perfect record on the line!" He nudged Esma, as the cheerleaders huddled together to watch. There would be no more cheering now; things were too intense!

"Yeah," she muttered, her thoughts still mostly on the odd pregame encounter, "Crazy."

"Snap out of it, Esma!" he nudged harder, frowning, "You don't want to miss _this_ —hey, I thought you weren't going to let that old hag get to you?"

"She isn't an old hag."

"She hurt you!"

"I know—I just want to forget about it."

"Well, I don't."

" _Please, just watch the game_!"

"Speak for yourself!"

Esma whirled around, angrily throwing her pompoms into his chest, then stalked away. She knew he didn't understand. She didn't either.

*~0~*

"Alright, alright!" Hugo celebrated, his eyes sparkling, "Pour the wine and cut the cheese! It's overtime."

"Don"t be crass, Hugo," Victor admonished, "It's a football game."

"You're _supposed_ to be a crass at football games," Hugo retorted.

"Not at _Notre Dame_ games!" Victor glared at him, then nudged Laverne, "What's up, sis?"

"Nothing."

"Now, I believe that like I believe Hugo has two left feet."

"Good, then you'll understand and leave me alone."

Victor rolled his eyes, "Is it the old janitor from last night?"

"Victor—"

"So, it is her?"

"Yeah, but never mind."

"Never mind what?"

She shook her head, "Just never mind, Victor."

" _Laverne_!"

Suddenly the entire stadium jumped to their feet, screaming in ecstasy, leaving two of the Goyles sitting dumbstruck in their seats.

"What just happened?"

"You just missed the best play of the game! It's a _touchdown_! We've got the lead!" Hugo gushed, "Oh my gosh, stop worrying about those files already! We gave them to Archie, what more can we do right now?"

"We weren't even discussing the files, Hugo," Victor growled, watching the replay on the screens, "I was concerned about our sister."

Hugo stared briefly, then shrugged, "She looks fine to me."

"That's because you're insensitive and selfish."

"Oh, and here I thought that I was watching a football game!"

~*0*~

Frollo watched with growing fury as time and again the Irish stopped the Cardinals' attempts to tie the game.

" _Throw it_ ," he muttered, swearing, as Sanford ran the ball again; for once he was genuinely afraid that he'd lose the wager, "Why don't you throw it?"

There was only one down left.

"Of course, our Lord does work in mysterious ways," he reminded himself softly.

"Oh, come on," Sarousch heard him, "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

" _God_!" Sarousch answered, exasperated, "You don't _really_ believe that He'll make Notre Dame win, do you?"

"I believe that He'll answer my prayers," Frollo snapped.

"Not to be rude and all, but _whatever_ dude!"

"We'll see," Frollo turned back to watch the final play, his heart beating rapidly. If he own intern didn't believe in God, how many more children were being corrupted by the sport's influence?

As he watched, the Cardinals ran the ball again and came up short. Frollo dropped his head, his mind going blank in its frenzy to blame someone. Only Esma's face came to mind.

Seeing his reaction, Sarousch bounced to his feet and scurried toward the door, afraid of what the president might do, "See you around. I've got a date tonight."

Frollo didn't reply or even move until his phone started ringing and then he threw it against the wall.

He wasn't going to talk to his brother!

* * *

When the Goyle's filed listlessly into Archie Deacon's office after Mass the next morning they found him in a severe mood.

"There's a lot to go through; sit down, you guys did good work."

"Have you made heads or tails of it, then?"Victor asked hoarsely, strained by his fear for the school's reputation, "Is it bad?"

"It's weird," Archie consented cautiously, "but I'm not sure that makes it bad."

"So, what was in it?" Laverne asked, impatiently, "I was keeping a janitor at bay for some of it."

"Well, first of all, there was a profile on each player, their current class schedules, their academic records, and the projected draft spots for the juniors and seniors who are considering the NFL. I'm not saying that it's necessarily bad, but I thought it was strange for a man who hates football as vehemently as Frollo does."

"Then there was that phone call that I mentioned to you, Victor," he went on, "He was talking with his brother, Jehan."

"I didn't know he had a brother." Hugo interrupted.

"Neither did I—but, from the sound of it, they're not on good terms." Archie paused to take a sip of green tea, "They were talking about the memorabilia scandal and then this Jehan must have asked Frollo if he'd wager on yesterday's game." He licked his lips nervously, "Frollo railed like I've never heard him before but, ultimately, he _did_ accept the bet. I was surprised; the man won't even play cards!"

"What was the wager exactly?" Victor asked.

"If Notre Dame won, Frollo would have to pay for Jehan's next pot party," Archie lips curled in disgust, "and if Sanford won, Jehan would enter a treatment program out in California. Apparently, he has quite the drug habit and our esteemed president is tired of dealing with him."

"Wait a minute," Laverne cut in, "Are you saying that if _Sanford_ won, President Frollo would get something that he wanted? That _is_ weird for the Notre Dame president!"

"Yeah," Hugo crossed his arms," Talk about no school spirit!"

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : *Waves shyly* I'm sorry, readers! I just couldn't make myself work on this story for the last who knows how long. Then, when I did pick it back up, I was surprised that this chapter was actually almost done. Ugh. I think plot bunnies from other genres and general life busyness kidnapped me! I also apologize for Mattie's UT jokes! She told me to add them in *wink, wink*


End file.
